Comfort Me
by SimpleCobbler
Summary: One-Shots. Drooping eyes quickly shot open, tacks swiveled when another heart wrenching cry echoed into their chamber. His entire body froze for a second, gathering his bearings in a panic, until the warm body wrapped in his arms shifted. New Chapter: He was visiting Bhasa, a country that sent a declaration of war to the Golden city, to negotiate; leaving Yum-Yum to worry for him.
1. Comfort Me

**Disclaimer. These are not my characters, I do not own the Thief and the Cobbler or the characters. This is only a story from a fan who wishes this fandom was bigger.**

Loud, persistent cries pierced the otherwise silent and calm night. The tiny room from where the sound was coming from was in the far western part of the golden palace, intricate and winding halls keeping the sound from reaching the king's and servant's chambers.

As the moonlight played patterns on the white marble floor, the wooden crib built by the prince himself, shook slightly, as if the sound itself was as strong as the desert's mighty winds. Screeches and screams boomed out of the youth's chubby, dry lips while it's short, stubby arms reached out before it; reaching towards the heavens painted on the ceiling of the small chamber. Despite the screaming bundle wrapped securely in the country's finest silks and thickest cloths, it insistently shivered and shook as if the layers were nothing but rags against the cool Arabian breeze. It screamed incoherent noises, desperately trying to garner the attention of anyone who could hear him. Long black eyelashes streaked shadows on the troubled, blue eyes of the child; shadowed and darkened like the turbulent sea. Fat tears coursed down it's pale, earthy skin, resembling the churning sand a few meters away from where the child laid struggling. Forehead scrunched and wrinkled, the child was immobilized on its back, squirming and moaning with every ounce of energy a small newborn's body could store. Pink, rosy lips trembled as the small mouth closed, like the warning of thunder before the lightning strike, and opened once more to release its nonsensical screams.

Tired yet relentless, the child's cries echoed throughout the halls of the palace. The extravagant arches and pillars held no warmth or comfort for the crying bundle, only enhancing the dark shadows lurking around the corners. Paintings of small angel babies flying and playing youthfully on the ceiling; a welcoming and warm scene had now appeared almost eerie and sinister in the dark night. The grand design impressing no one, as if the audience was long gone and had abandoned the piece of art. The cool marble floor was silent, a surface for the sad sounds of the child to be bounced around. The swaying of silky curtains indicated the chilly wind of the desert protruding the room. Pitiful whimpers escaped the small panicking chest as mucus mixed with tears drenched it's small chin and cheeks. Was there no comfort for him?

Secular blue eyes blearily opened, softly at first, almost as if sleep the seductress herself was pulling him back in her arms. Black, worn out tacks cautiously balanced on his thin lips, it seemed like the seductress was winning. Drooping eyes quickly shot open, tacks swivelling, when another heart wrenching cry echoed into their chamber. His entire body froze for a second, gathering his bearings in a panic, until the warm petite body encased in his arms shifted. The source of his panic forgotten in a second, he looked down and the pump in the cavity of his chest skipped a beat.

His lovely wife hummed quietly, curling her left leg even further along his long right thigh, unconsciously trapping and securely making sure they were as close as physically possible as she continued her sleep. A woman he would spend time to just simply stare at with awe; as if he were to blink, she would disappear and his life up to this point would have been a bittersweet dream. Due to his lanky 6'3 terribly contrasting with her 5'6, she always ended up in a warm cocoon made of his arms and legs surrounding her; protecting her from the Arabian night's chill for as long as she saw fit. If anyone saw them, they wouldn't have been able to tell where one started and where the other ended; his pale, thin limbs tangled and contrasted with lush, brown and soft limbs of her own. His spindly fingers wove through her ebony locks, treating the fine hairs like the most precious silk his skilled and experienced hands had ever sawn with. Her head tucked away against his chest, her delicate face scrunched in one of her adorable expressions. Staring down at his own personal goddess, there were times he could not fathom how she could have possibly reciprocated his feelings. She was his saving grace, his reason and conviction, his heart's one true desire. This simple cobbler would never have dreamt of having such a gorgeous woman on his arm, let alone marrying such a beautiful creature. But he swore to protect her, her heart, her beauty, and her smile.

Before that emotional train left his heart, another demanding cry had him reluctantly pulling away from his warm princess; making sure not to disturb her from slumber. Untangling himself from her vice-like grip was a feat he went through each morning, but he was now quite skilled in the art of making sure not to wake her.

She had been hard at work recently and his princess needed all the rest she could get. His chest bare and his silk overalls, that his wife had given him, hung loose; he was the picture of a spoiled prince. Enhanced by his pale complexion one would think he had been born and raised inside the regal palace, never seeing the light of day. But they would have been terribly wrong. He had tanned those 5 days in the desert, yes, but that was many years ago. It was the many years before that adventure that he lived a simple cobbler's life; a humble upbringing from his foster father and a cobbler's shop was all he had to his name. Not much the Prince of a fairytale one would think.

He slipped away from their shared bed and he took a moment to watch his princess shift, clearly uncomfortable without his warmth hugging her. His tacks swung to form a slight smile when she let out a small whine that suspiciously sounded like his name. Heart beating pleasantly, he moved away from his lover and walked passed the galore and riches their room presented to him.

His simple wooden table and stool, both packed high with thread and needles, looked completely out of place; contrasting terribly with her pots full of an array of colourful and blossoming flowers and cacti. He insisted to work elsewhere but she stubbornly refused and said she wanted to be close to him while he worked, convincing him it was so she can watch and point out his posture, but he knew better. She told him once that when he worked, it was as if he made love with the cloth. He made sure that nothing was left untouched, that every thread and stitch had received the right amount of attention and that the memory he was healing was cherished and preserved. Changing quietly so as not to disturb his lover; the mere thought made his ears turn red and his tacks form a straight vertical line at the memory of her words, especially what had occurred after that heated debate…

Smooth sandals and a loose fitting shirt later, he was hastily making his way through the winding and turning halls leading towards the source of the screaming. They had specifically asked the servants and Nanny to not tend to their child. And so, with difficulty and confusion, they reluctantly left the child to the new parents.

He was one of many orphans who did not know his parents; whether they had abandoned him or were killed during the war at the time, he did not know. He was brought up by the golden city's well known and respected cobbler, who had found him in one of his many crates full of cloths and silks. His foster father treated him fairly, but he ran a business so there weren't many father-and-son moments. The late Queen had passed away after giving birth to princess Yumyum so she never knew her mother; due to her fathers grief, he had ignored his little girl at the beginning of her life. She had been brought up by her servants and her Nanny, never knowing the touch of a mother. They had both decided that they would be present throughout their child's life, to have a role in their child's upbringing and to never leave the child's side. They hoped to guide him or her as best as they can and to be the parents they never had. Which is what brings him to their first born's chambers at 3 in the morning.

Rounding the corner in a fast pace, he came upon a familiar scene; his son's arms fervently reaching towards the unknown and his screams deducing to quiet whimpers and gurgles. It was as if his son could already sense his presence and had dramatically calmed in the familiar feeling. Despite the late hour, each time he saw his son, it always made his heart swell with pride and an unmeasurable amount of happiness. As Tack walked towards the wooden crib, he picked up the large blue plushy that had fallen to the ground which had an inkling resemblance to the previous magical vizier, ZigZag. His loving wife had broached the idea to him and he could only give in to her every heart's desire. He had done his very best, for his wife and his unborn child; he wouldn't say it was perfect but his son fell in love with it despite the minor mistakes.

Placing the smiling ZigZag at the left of his son's side, the tacks in his mouth couldn't help but swivel into a sweet smile. Drool, sweat, mucus, and tears smeared the little prince's face and yet the looming father couldn't help but suppress the urge to kiss the tiny cheeks of his child. Small, pale blues searched for comfort in the much larger and aged sky blues. They were not disappointed. Without breaking their connection, with memory alone, the larger of the two males reached for the cloth hanging from the crib and wiped the mess the smaller of the two had made; with gentle strokes and a quiet hum in the back of his throat. The smaller of the two males watched in curious silence, moving his face this way and that; due to being uncomfortable or to help his father, he did not know.

The baby, in some shape or form, understood that his father did not speak often. Tack, with his long gangly legs, wide shoulders, lithe form, strong arms, and thin fingers, felt like home to the newborn. The child was engulfed in safety and comfort when his father lifted him from his prison and cocooned the prince, like his mother, into his chest. Due to his father's quiet, comforting nature, the child could not help but to mimic his father's silence. His large blue eyes followed his father's every move, widening a few times in curiosity and other times in surprise. His father mimicked his mother's actions when she held the prince and swayed from left to right, rocking him while slowly walking around the small chamber. As his father continued to hold him, one large hand cradling his head while the other held his body; the baby boy's own hands stretched out with a purpose. One of his small hands, smooth and chubby, opened and closed while reaching towards his fathers face. His other hand had been busy being used as a replacement pacifier and was now inside the small baby's mouth already drenched with saliva. Producing gurgling sounds, the baby's wide eyes only held pure trust and adoration for his father.

The wind blew gently against the curtains and only the background noise of wind disturbed the silence between the two males. The larger man looked down at the baby for a few seconds, eyes lidded with affection spilling over, before quietly walking towards the chair that had been placed beside the child's crib. The baby Prince did not like being jostled around and had promptly made sure that his father knew; making small grunting and gurgling sounds, it broke the quiet spell the two had been under.

As he sat down, Tack immediately adopted his hunched position, appearing to hug the bundle as close as possible to his chest. This little bundle of joy had captured his heart the moment he laid his eyes on him, very much like his mother had. So many emotions spilt forth from the cobbler's heart that he could not look at his newborn for fear of crying; he held him close despite the child's struggle against the confining action. His tacks were swivelling this way and that and finally settled to a near resemblance of a pout.

Tack wasn't an emotional man, not often at least, but he had felt blessed when the princess accepted him into her life; let alone when she said yes when he proposed to her. But looking down at this small bundle, the pure proof of their love, he could not help but feel a rush of emotions; he felt overly grateful for all that has happened in his life. In these small moments he questioned if he deserved what he had, what had he done to receive such a beautiful wife and child? At times he would doubt himself, question whether he could protect them, whether he was the right man to lead his home country; if he was the right man to love this woman and to father their child. Would his people, his wife, his son, understand the depth of his silence? The meaning behind each gesture, stare, and head nod? He was a simple cobbler, what if he could not meet the expectations set by others, what if he disappointed his family?

As if he could sense his inner turmoil, the baby prince reached his plump fingers towards his visage; a silent plea for attention or to pull him away from his clouding thoughts, Tack was not sure. Black worn out tacks forming a vertical line, an expression of surprise on how cute his son reacted, Tack suppressed the urge to smother the little angel in his arms; he instead gently squeezed the little one, a show that nothing was amiss. Brows relaxed and ears piqued when the sound of hurried footsteps made their way towards their child's room. Tack strongly believed that there was a difference between telling someone you loved them, and having your palms sweat at the thought of knowing they were almost near you.

He held his little one closer, knowing full well that his wife was about to take their child away into her arms any minute now. He looked down at his son's wide eyes, the perfect mirror and shade of blue like his own; eyes looking back, full of wonder and innocence. Something inside him fermented itself and as a father and an Arabian knight he was going to-

"It looks like you're slowly devouring him." came from the entrance of the chamber from a tired but smooth voice. His heart stopped and Tack looked up at the source of the tired words; but when he saw her, he was in custody once more, looking at the princess for the very first time. Breath and heart in his throat, his flower looked as tired as she sounded but still bloomed as the first day he saw her. The only difference was that he did not turn from pale to crimson red in minutes. He only turned slightly pink in seconds.

Never expecting a response, the princess glided towards the only other two occupants in the room with her husband quietly watching her like always. At first it was irksome to be watched without an explanation but she now knew better. It was his way of letting her know that he was there in his own quiet way, at times his stare felt as if a comforting hand was on her shoulder; a silent support. Princess Yumyum reached towards her two boys, one a grown man and the other barely a toddler. As she stopped and stood in between her husbands long legs, instead of reaching for the little bundle as expected, she wrapped her arms around the bent form of her cobbler. She stayed hugging her family for a little while longer until her husband reached out an arm to lightly touch her lower back. It wasn't a sign of affection or a way of returning the hug, he would have used different gestures to express that, he meant to point out her position of hugging them; her back would hurt if she continued in that posture. She smiled sweetly and straightened herself, lilic purple eyes lovingly looking at her worrisome husband. Kissing his forehead just bellow his floppy hat and few strands of rogue hair, she knew from the few years of being with this man that his eyes too were closed. At times she would fill in the silence between them, and other times, like right now, she felt like words would ruin the moment. She extracted herself from her lover and pulled their baby boy away from his pale lanky arms without a word.

She smirked slightly when she saw her husband's tacks split into an adorable pout. She crooned and held their baby naturally within her arms, almost as if she was holding something more valuable then the 3 golden balls that guarded and watched over the golden city. She didn't hop and dance around like she used to when she was younger; but she rocked her baby with the sway of her hips and lulled him to sleep with her hushed voice. Lovely clear blue eyes began to drop, desperately trying to stay open to watch this beautiful creature; lips smacking, black eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings, the young prince was put to sleep in seconds in his mothers arms.

Now Tack wasn't usually an emotional man. Watching his tired wife hum quietly and continue to sway despite their son already asleep; he realized he was gazing at his most precious treasures. He stood up and swiftly walked towards his wife as he noticed her closed eyes and the slowing of her rocking. She's done it before, fall asleep while standing and she almost collapsed if not for him catching her before she hit the floor; it was a terrifying experience he wished would never happen again. He led her back to the chair and had her stand in front of him, with her own purple jewelled eyes drooping much like his son's. Without further a do, he bent down and had one arm wrapped securely under the bend of her knee and the other large hand splayed on her back; Tack promptly lifted his princess and child and sat down with both on his lap. With a quiet yelp as he made sure both we're secure and would not fall off, his wife's eyes widened, now fully awake again.

Turning and ready to scold her silly husband, what if he had woken up their son?! She was not prepared for the brush of lips against her right cheek. Anger put aside at the moment, the princess looked at Tack with red dusting her cobalt cheeks; this man always surprised her with his small gestures of love. She pouted cutely and looked at him once more, "You know I can't win against you when you do something like that." She whispered to him. Plucking the two tacks back into his mouth with his thin fingers, her husband stared back at her with adoration and love. They looked down and watched their little bundle of joy sleep. The clear blues now covered by smooth eyelids, creases have been wiped clean, his black tuff of hair ever growing; he was adorable, drool dribbling down his chin and all. His hands resting on his tiny chest, the princess briefly wondered if this is what her husband had looked like when he was but a baby. The curtains continued to dance with the wind, the arches and pillars were slowly illuminating, and the winged babies on the ceiling didn't look as eerie as before. Shifting and adjusting a bit in her cobbler's lap, the two sat quietly and watched the sun rise together with their son quietly sleeping in her arms.


	2. Hear Me Out

"Momma! Momma! Stowy! Stowy!" The little three year old demanded, desperately trying to use his tiny fists to get what he wanted. The little boy, showing no signs of his father's usual silence, was currently resting on his mother's lap; he was almost falling off due to his energetic excitement in the prospect of having his favourite bedtime story told. "Now Nod, what did Papa say a true prince should always do when asking for something?", chided his mother who gently poked her adorable son's nose. He was quite a loud thing, making sure to express himself with the few words he was comfortable with and babbled incoherent noises when he couldn't put it in words.

The child was struck dumb and silently looked down at his small three year old hands; staring intently at them as if they held the answer to her complicated question. Brows scrunched, he did not demand the answer in a way most three year olds would react, he sat for a few moments causing his mother to worry; wondering if she had pushed it a bit. His short black locks covering his head stayed still as he bowed his head in concentration.

"It's okay Nod, you don-", and just like the sun breaking through the dark and dreary clouds, the little boy's face lit up and he exclaimed "Pwease! Papa say pwease say pwince!" The prince looked up at his mother expectantly with his expressive sky blue eyes, asking for approval. She smiled and laughed a little while nodding down at her little boy as she ran her smooth fingers through his silky locks; oh how much he resembled his father.

Her husband was currently working on solving a trading complication with one of the neighbouring countries; she knew how much he loathed working late and not being able to spend time with their son. She herself knew how long it took to resolve trading complications so she assured her loving husband that she will take over bedtime stories for tonight.

It astounded her that Tack was the one to suggest to read to their son every night, when she asked why, he merely shrugged his shoulders and pointed at their son, who was sleeping at the time, while making the gesture of talking with his pale hand. She soon realized it was so that his son could recognize and hear his voice, a voice he didn't use often in front of others; but one he wished his son could be acquainted with.

With a final look of worry and apology, her husband kissed her gently, his tacks forming a straight line after placing them back.

As the king of the golden city, Tack didn't need his tacks any longer but they were who he was and only his family had seen him without them. He made his way towards the room full of incompetent advisors, they did not have a vizier any longer for obvious reasons. She watched him leave for a few moments, admiring the way the robes shifted against her husbands tall lithe form.

She remembered the first time he wore those regal robes, her father had retired and it was in their private chambers where Tack waited to be called to the ceremony where he was going to be crowned king of the Golden City.

He looked like a lost puppy in the skin of a lion; he said nothing but he quickly paced back and forth in front of their king sized bed while she too quietly sat at the edge of the bed nervous for him. The sound of trumpets and a roaring crowd did not help ease either of their nerves, it only seemed to enhance them. His robes were a blunder and his head piece askew, at that moment he did not look like the king she knew he had within him.

Getting a little dizzy from his movements, princess Yumyum stood up suddenly and grabbed her husbands hands, which were now wringing themselves in a heap of sweat and nervousness; halting his erratic pace in the process. She lifted a hand to his unfocused eyes and forced his gaze onto her own, it took a while because he had to lean down a bit to accommodate for her height. "Tack."she whispered into the space between their faces. His eyes focused, his hands stilled, and then it was only her. His eyes saw only her, his ears heard only her breath, his nose only smelt her flowery scent, and when she leaned forward to gently kiss his tack-less lips, it was only her he felt and tasted.

After releasing his lips, she leaned back and let go of his hand cupping both of her own hands on either side of the nervous man's face. "Tack. Yes you are becoming the king, yes people will not understand you, and yes, everyone will be looking at you. It will be hard to gain everyone's trust but you must remember, you were once and still are this city's cobbler. They are your neighbours and friends; and remember," she smiled a little and brushed back a strand of hair, "you've faced off a whole army of One-eyes, these are people you know! It can't be that bad!" She closed her eyes and smiled sweetly towards her husband. Really, she wasn't even in the ceremony yet her hands were sweating out of nervousness for him! She was allowed to be at his side near the end but she still worrie-

Dry lips crashed against hers in a matrimony of soft nips and nibbles and she could not help but melt into his secure arms. Her arms felt numb and were pinned against his broad chest while his own arms were wound tightly around her. One around her voluptuous waste and the twin pale hand tangled messily in her long black locks to make sure her head was securely in place. Their lips moulded against each other, dancing an age old dance that only their lips knew the tempo and beat to; his closed eyes furrowed and hers gently closed. He kissed like a man hungry and she a woman who was always willing to give. She was not used to such passionate kisses from him, but she can feel the ease in his taught shoulders and the nervousness disappear.

As their lips separated away from each other, gasping for breath, Tack's cheeks burned as he leaned his head on her shoulder. With her own cheeks flushed, she gently pushed him away and sat him down on their bed, a flash of confusion in his secular eyes which she ignored as she went to work on fixing his head wrap to the standards of a King.

He hugged her stomach quietly as she worked on the wrap and he drew circular patterns on her left, silk covered, hip. She tapped it twice to tell him she was done and he stood towering over her 5'6 with his 6'3; but she was anything but intimidated but her loving husband. She then reached for his robes and began to unravel the already falling sash and started to fold where it needed to be folded and smooth out the creases.

While working, his royal-soon-to-be-King pouted when he realized she was ignoring him. It was only a kiss. He could tell she enjoyed it by the slight flush on her cheeks so he hoped he was going to get off lightly. Tack expected consequences, he just didn't expect to have the life squeezed out of him when his princess-soon-to-be-Queen tightened his sash to unbreathable limits. "You already know what that was for." She skipped away from his reach giggling into her hand and all he could do at the moment was fall in love with her again; while desperately trying to breath. She released him right at the moment her father's voice boomed, "I now present to you, Tack! The New King of the Golden City!" They looked at each other with wide eyes, soft blue meeting purple irises. They both shared a secret smile, walking hand in hand, the young couple walked towards their future.

Oh how he had he grown into those robes, he didn't need help to put them on anymore but at times of stress, Tack always came to seek for her touch with the excuse that he forgot how to or his hands were tired. She smiled to herself as she looked over at her son, who was crouching down and browsing his short wooden shelf that his father made for him; searching for the perfect story for the night.

His moderate chamber had a circle white bed, and much like the white bed she still had in her garden, his had guardian wolves slumbering underneath. So far the only reason her son has seen them was when it was feeding time, and she prayed it would stay like that forever. The young prince had given each head a peculiar name, some had a distinct sound, others a syllable, and he gave the biggest head the title "Big Bwad Woof"; due to the story he and his father had read about a little girl who wore red all the time. One thick and one thin cloth covered her son's window; one that covered the sun's strong rays and to block out the sand, while the other was simply made to cover the first. His room had a glass roof so during nights when there was a prediction of falling stars, her family would quietly lie together and watch the spectacle. Toys and wooden blocks scattered the floor, a stuffed ZigZag laid on it's side beside the Queen and she picked it up, smiling once again at the plushy her husband made.

Coming back empty handed was not what Yumyum expected, Nod Jr. lifted his small arms up, an indication to carry him; and she did, placing the three year old onto her lap. He possessively grabbed the stuffed ZigZag and curled on his side on top of his mother's flat stomach. She wrapped her arms tightly around the little boy, squeezing him against her gently. "Papa say stowy about pwince and pwincess… Ever aftah," she had a feeling she knew where this was going as she cocked an eyebrow in the little boy's direction. He then poked one of his eyes, "Big Bwad eye! Sweepy gwandpa!," he raised his shirt to cover his face up to his nose, "papa say about theef who was bwad!" Pulling his shirt down, and as a last act of an explanation, he raised the stuffed ZigZag to her face. "ZeeZee!" By now he was energetically pulling on his mother's shirt, expecting her to start the tale like his father always did. She just sat there, this time the speechless one as she realize that her husband had been telling their son their adventure; a mixture of worry if he exposed too much to their innocent son, and a little hurt that she wasn't there to listen or to put in her own comments.

Seeing her troubled look, the young prince climbed down his mother's lap and quickly toddled towards his short shelf; grabbing the first book that laid messily at the side, he waddled his way back towards her and presented her the new book. "Momma, don't want that stowy no mo, dis one, Momma wead dis one!" He looked up at her with her husband's innocent blues that glistened a little, and she could not help but reach for her baby boy. "Oh shhh, Momma's okay, no tears see?," he looked up and indeed, his mother was not crying, "Momma is just mad with Papa, so no more tears okay?" She smiled sweetly to her son convincing him she was okay as she wiped away the glisten in his eyes; she was touched at her sweet little boy who thought that it was the story making her upset. She blew on her three year old baby's chubby cheeks to make a farting sound; she revelled at the tinkling laughter that was produced after. She was going to have a private talk with her dearest once his conference was done, but for now her angel needed to sleep, it was almost past his bed time.

"Sorry Nod, Momma doesn't know that story very well so she can't tell it to you tonight. Oooh, but I do like this one!" She enthusiastically exclaimed, "The Angel and the pumpkin man, that sounds exciting!" Because she spoke to quickly, the young toddler simply nodded his head and settled down against his mothers chest; it was a classic he hadn't heard in a while.

"Once upon a time, there lived a little boy who-" she had been quickly interrupted by Nod as he quickly sat up and promptly told his mother that she was reading it the wrong way. She looked befuddled and inquired how his father would read it which her son enthusiastically mimicked what her husband usually sounded like when he read. Or at least tried to but she got the point, Tack would use different tones and types of voices for each character and even the narrator. Back and forth the mother and son continued the thin book, Nod correcting the queen's voice and YumYum realizing that her husband was quite the storyteller if she were to go by her son's enthusiasm to reading and books. By the time the pair reached the end, with a baritone voice, the Queen ended the tale with, "And they all lived happily ever after." She looked down at her sleeping prince and brushed away a few chaotic strands of black hair. She carried her growing son, lifted the thick blankets, and placed him down gently and made sure that he was tucked in for the cold night to come. She laid down beside him over the his covers and simply played with his black hair; he was a heavy sleeper so he did not appear to be disturbed.

He really was the spitting image of Tack, and she wondered to herself if he too will grow as tall as his father or if he will be moderate height due to her petit stature. As she leaned against the wall, she quietly contemplated her life thus far; unconsciously running her fingers through Nods hair.

Lightly laughing, the Queen smiled to herself at the memory of jumping and dancing in circles as she sung to her Nanny. She really believed that she could save only one person, that strong wish a long forgotten memory as her real adventure began when she met the hopelessly clumsy cobbler that same day. An un spoken connection had clicked the moment she had laid her eyes on the pale contradiction. Eyes had met and lingered for only a few seconds, all senses zeroed in on those endless blues and she could do nothing as he pulled her into a world where only the two of them simply existed. That was until the mysterious man tripped over the fuming vizier and was currently bowed over as he collected the spools of thread and tacks that spilt on the colourful carpet underneath them. She had to stifle a snort or two as she watched his nimble fingers pick each tack one by one to place into his mouth, she remembered how her eyes lingered on his lips; even the poor excuse that it was out of curiosity of how he balanced such small dangerous objects and not of the growing attraction to the man. She blushed slightly at how her self control seemed to fluctuate whenever it came to the silent cobbler; whether it was constantly worrying for him when he disappeared or how happy she was when she saw him behind those rich blue curtains.

The journey through the desert, meeting the brigands, the crazy witch, and watching Tack as he fought against Zigzag; she could see how her husband could turn that into one of the many adventures her son read about. She wasn't exactly mad with Tack, she just thought that it would have been nice to tell the tale together; not a lot of people went through what they did and fell in love like in the fairy tales. 'Whenever we have a daughter, it'll be my turn to read stories to her' the Queen silently promised to herself, blushing slightly when she realized she had thought 'when', and not 'if'. But she knew that if Tack wished to read to their future daughter, queen Yumyum would not have the power within her to take that from him. She knew that Tack secretly wished to teach one of their children his artistic skill, whether to officially work in the trade or to just have as a hobby, he would be simply pleased. She knew deep down he wished for all their children to work hard for what they wanted, that as a father he would protect their goals as best as he could. The shop that he previously resided in still stood as a building today, but all of the materials and articles of cloths had been transported straight to the palace; and into a room that was specifically located beside her garden, at his request.

She twirled her son's fringe as she remembered the many quiet afternoons spent together in her garden, when he was done his lessons on etiquette of being a proper King, and she finished her morning language lessons.

Both mentally exhausted, she quietly curled into his side while his arm was securely wrapped around her waist, the afternoon sun barely missing the silent couple that laid underneath the shade of the willow trees of the desert. At times his arm around her waist would tense up, and then relax almost immediately, she assumed it was simply a reflex until she felt him hug her closer to his body, as if to comfort himself. She reminisced when she had asked him one lazy afternoon why he would do that. She had become very familiar with Tack's expressions and gestures so when he blushed and looked away, she knew it was something worth pressing him for.

'Taaaaaaaack' she whispered between them, dragging the 'a' because she knew how much he couldn't say no to her when she asked him like this. He shot her a nervous glance before fully turning his body back to her; he pushed her back down to lie beside him, then he made the impression of falling asleep. He opened his eyes and pointed to his eyes and then his head, what he saw in his head while he dozed off beside her, so a dream, she slowly pieced it together from his short gestures. He looked down at his lap and began to nervously fiddle with his hands once more, taking each one into one of her own, she looked into his shy eyes and smiled a gentle smile of reassurance. He paused for a second more as if contemplating an idea, and then promptly took out a golden thread that began to weave an image. In a quick motion and a few tugs, a picture of a woman with hearts-that was her! He gazed at the picture of her with such a gentle smile that she could feel her heart throb as if stuttering, when all of a sudden the image collapsed and his face crumpled into a lonely expression. He did not look at her, his gaze downcast and hidden underneath the shadow of his hat. "You would dream about me when you fell asleep… And then I would collapse? Disappear?", she asked him, slowly shifting closer to the bowed over man. He gave no indication if she was right or not, watching his bandaged thumbs graze against each other silently. "And every time you woke up, you made sure I was there by squeezing me," she finished happily.

She watched as her cobbler's face turned into fascinating shades of pink and then settled on a deep red, which he promptly covered with his tanned fingers; shaking his head as if to resist the truth behind her words. Smirking mischievously, the princess pounced the unassuming pauper and like a cat, stretched her smaller body over his and rested herself there; his hands immediately held on to her hips to steady the little kitten. Shocked yes but he could not stop her if this is what she wished, it's not like he didn't enjoy her attention; his face was now vulnerable for her to watch and he shyly looked away from her once more. "My goodness Tack, I thought it was a medical problem! But you need not worry, I won't be disappearing anytime soon," she held her clenched fist and punched it into the air as if punching his fears away, her voice rose with such conviction and determination that the prince could feel his troubles slightly calm at her words. He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping his princess into his robes and closer to his chest, he hid his face in her neck, his tack-less mouth lightly kissed her pulse. He wouldn't be able to continue if she wasn't by his side, guiding and loving him like she did now; he couldn't see a proper future without her and it scared him how much he depended on this small woman. She held him closer, rubbing his shoulders with soothing circles, 'He shouldn't hunch over so often' she thought to herself as she ran her own exploring hands along his clavicle and the naked skin behind his neck. They held each other for the rest of the afternoon like that until they were called upon once more.

The sound of slippers slapping on the marble floors grew louder as the tall figure hurriedly made his way towards his destination; years of studying proper etiquette flew out the window the moment the King was released from the long drawn out meeting. Robes a blunder and his hat thrown to the side, the mighty and well respected King tripped on his own two feet; getting up quickly he nimbly continued his sprint down the corridors. Hours inside that stuffy room had kept him from reading to his son and burdening his hard working wife, two things he could not stand for.

A simple overview of what happened, a decision, and the signing of a form was what was simply needed to be done with the trading deal; but both parties were very intent on garnering every pound of gold they could get their hands on. Accusations flew back and forth as the King silently assessed the situation, his hands spread open, each finger touched it's twin on the other hand, hands thoughtfully placed in front of the quiet man. Enough was enough. He slammed his palms onto the table as he stood before the arguing stall owners and advisers, both silenced immediately, fleeting thoughts of the rumours floating around their King.

After he had been given the crown, months passed and his people still did not trust him, but when a declaration of war had been presented, uproars and fear had spread throughout the city. Rumours said that it took only one meeting to resolve the declaration, others say that their King had scared the neighbouring country's ruler; other said that magic was involved. Whatever happened, Tack had resolved the declaration and in the next year became strong traders with the neighbouring country. He helped the Golden City prosper under his rule, they now had great connections all over the world and the tourism in their city increased; there had been a large drop in poverty and many schools had been built.

As the silence reigned in the meeting room, the King slowly stood from his grand chair and walked over to the now silent traders. His towering height out matching all of the men in the room the moment he stood up, he gave off the aura of regal upbringing and intelligence. Icy blue eyes skeptically gazed down at the groups of golden coins; lithe pale fingers took five pieces from the pile of the merchant from his country and placed it onto the foreign trader's pile; it was after all this man's fault for he had taken four of the other man's merchandise and tried to hide it. In the back of his mind, his years of training stated that the man should have his hands sliced off for thievery but Tack was quite forgiving, a vice and a virtue in these situations. He then presented the unsigned form to his beady eyed advisors with an icy stare, as if daring any of them to question his decision, one by one, each man signed the form, he then presented it to the foreign trader and bowed respectfully to him; a sign of apology from the King himself.

Flabbergasted, the man flushed and stuttered, the King himself was apologizing! This was unheard of, this was so unusual, he was being treated as if they were equals. He numbly stared at the bowed man until he remembered his manners and graciously bowed lower to the neighbouring King, accepting the apology. The hours of tension inside the room broke and Tack had stood at his proper height, smiling kindly at the man, he then made his way to the door and knocked three times. With a flourish, the double doors opened and small tables of fine delicacies rolled into the room by servants and were presented graciously to the men; as the servants walked out, Tack stood by the door and made sure to shake each of their hands, inclining his head slightly as a show of gratitude.

'The servants here are treated as equals too!' The middle aged stall owner observed the young King, he didn't appear to hold any of the rumours true about having razor sharp teeth and a forked tongue. The King of his city rarely showed any signs of respect for his people, he was corrupt and would use the tax payers money for his own pleasures, they had an unjust system. Many were in poverty for being too poor to pay the taxes, so they were either forced out or jailed; he couldn't believe his own eyes when he walked into the Golden City, the people sang and were so jovial. Children returned home from school and the market was such a welcoming and warm fiesta, he could only wish his people could one day reach this type of peace and happiness. He was astonished when the King himself had requested to over see the trading complication, he was surprised that he was even allowed to speak his side of the story to an officer alone. This country had a just system and a kind King and the stall owner couldn't help but slightly frown in envy as he watched the King pat the other trader on the back. The man blushed and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, bowing to his King in apology for his unjust actions, knowing well that he should be grateful for being allowed to keep his arms, while the taller man smiled assuringly to the trader and pushed him to stand up. He saw the King give the guilty man a stern look and presented a form that stated he would be going to jail or some sort, the trader could only assume. The rumours were untrue, this King was not lost and he clearly knew what he was doing, you only needed to take one glance at his people to know how well this King ruled. But before he could speak to the King, he was no where in sight.

Said King was currently heaving, a pale hand clenched onto the robes covering his chest, his erratically beating heart pounded in his ears as he tried to breath, the last time his heart pumped blood this hard was when he first saw his wife, and when he accepted the fact that he could possibly die at the hands of the One-eyed army. But his pace slowed as he saw the light that shown through his three year old's chamber, hope rose in his chest despite the fact that he knew that it was hours way past his son's bedtime, and that story time was over for the day. Despite knowing that, it did not deter the man from seeing his son, he dearly missed him and was getting quite impatient in that meeting room; his wife's soothing words keeping his temper at bay. Being the only level headed one in a room of arguing men made him want to invite his wife to the meetings, just so they could quiver in fear of her; which wasn't fare for her for she had work of her own.

She dealt with the poverty in the city and managed any social problems such as rape, inequality, and unjust payment or lack of. She was his counterpart and he knew he couldn't deny her the moment she broached the idea of helping the city in her own way. To bring her into a room of men, which he knew half of which looked upon his wife with eyes that no man but Tack himself should only look at her with; was completely unfair to her and would be extremely taxing on Tacks already waining patience with them. He may be a forgiving man but he would let his emotions cloud his judgement in a heartbeat, he would not let such transgressions pass, he would make up a law if he had to; if a man were to look at his wife as if she was nothing less then the intelligent and beautiful creature she was…

He placed his tacks securely into the pockets of his robes as his dark thoughts faded away at the sight that he beheld the moment he turned into the lit room. His son, the prince, was quietly snoozing, mouth slightly agape and body relaxed; his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. What made the King smile fondly was the woman curled around his son, their son; she curled around the sleeping child, as if protecting him from the darkness despite the fact that the fire was still lit. Her left arm was loosely wrapped around the small bundle and her dainty knees clasped together and shaped her body into a crescent moon. Half her face was revealed to him and his soft blue eyes traced her every contour and curve, what this woman did to him. He leaned over his precious treasures and blew out the glowing candle, immediately dousing the room in darkness. He looked up and took a moment to watch the stars through the glass ceiling, he had almost forgotten the shooting star he had seen those many years ago, the star that started his life. He looked down at his wife and without further a do, he carried her bridle style, anchoring her to his chest, but gently enough so that she wouldn't wake. He leaned forward and over his wife's head, he bent and delicately kissed his son's forehead, 'I love you' he whispered into the quiet night. Like the prince made into a King in many of the story tales he read to his son, he walked out of the room with measured steps, his princess turned Queen slumbering in his arms.

Groaning and shifting, his wife had always been a light sleeper, she would have been awake the moment he jostled her, her almost dead sleep was testament enough to the burden of her work. As he made his way to their shared room, his tacks swung to a grim line and he decided to plan a rest day for his Queen, he knew she was a busy body but she shouldn't work to the point of exhaustion. He carried her effortless and his brows furrowed when he really felt how light she was, she always had been but has she been skipping meals again? Concerned, he placed her delicately onto their mattress, removing his heavy robes impatiently, he returned to her and removed her veil and jewelry, taking care of each piece as if her soul resided within each object. He loomed above her compliant body then stripped her of her confining cloths and only then did his Queens violate eyes flutter open, she mumbled his name and he intertwined his windowy fingers with her much warmer ones. "Mmmmm… Meeting..trade," she yawned tiredly, "Went well?" He kissed her gently, and wrapped his pale body around hers, much like she did to their son. She mumbled once more, scooting closer to the familiar comfort his body radiated around her, she smiled contently and released a long sigh. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck and his eyes fluttered shut, before sleep consumed the royal couple he quietly whispered once more "I love you" and she in return, "And I love you".


	3. Dance With Me

It was hot. There was the normal, everyday heat, but this kind of hot was almost unbearable; it was a wonder how the people could still thrive under such types of environments.

And yet, despite the cool evenings in Baghdad, the hot kiss from the sun was still evident throughout the loud and rambunctious crowd; as if the lacking presence of the ball of gas did not change the burning heat of thousands of youth's skin that glistened in the fire's light.

As the already large group continued to grow, there was a silent build up of the unknown, a buzz in the air that all ages felt. It was all-consuming and everyone was helplessly drunk in the night's riches.

Chatter, laughter, and white noise became the background music, ignored, as the large mass of bodies moved to the complicated sequence of notes the musicians created.

Drums made of thick skins in all shapes and sizes were beaten mercilessly, kissed aggressively against the thick sticks only to be taken away to be beaten with once more; an age old rhythm only artists knew. There were the poor, the rich, the young and the old.

But music was not prejudice, it danced with any willing body, pulling the strings as if a skilled puppeteer, the body was but a vessel and the soul was what moved. Woman held no reservations and hips swayed left to right, arms in the air as if reaching towards the gods, inviting them to this bountiful feast of freedom and entertainment. Men were free to watch, to explore the hidden riches that were offered to them in glistening glasses, jovially cheering and singing to the forgotten past or for the bright, unknown future.

The evening sky grew dark as the minutes felt like seconds and the hours turned into eternities; this was a night of exploration, uninhibited satisfying of the human senses. Smells of roasted boars and baked chicken wafted throughout the centre, going unnoticed for once; the gathered bodies hungry for a completely different reason. The multitude grew, stall and shop owners abandoning their post to join in this magical gathering, travellers and inn keepers alike ran towards the pull of the evening's seductress.

Bare feet dirtied while scuffed shoes pounded against the cobblestone, bodies thrived and pulsed; the people slicked with sweat, trudged on. Violinists joined the song they knew not how to play, banjos, guitars, one by one instruments morphed this spell into something almost incomprehensible; and yet the bass became heavier, the sounds and pitches increased to a crescendo. The crowd of strangers had suddenly turned into a large family, hands clapped in unison, heads turned to the trumpets, feet stomped to the drums. Middle aged woman laughed like they were the little girls they once were; large burly men jumped and jived with youthful abandon.

It was a gradual climb, almost unnoticeable, but it was there and it was slowly approaching the cliff's edge.

Bodies boiled with tension as the breaking point of the unknown tune was almost in sight, musicians and dancers alike sweated profusely, the buildup painfully unbearable. Hips became erratic, claps began to echo throughout the city, hearts beat in rhythm with the heavy atmosphere, cheers and hollers enhancing the impatience of the people; mind, body, and soul desperately working together to reach its release. The earth underneath quaked and shivered, as if to join in on this spell bounding art; scratched voices released from exhausted bodies, the pinnacle was mere seconds away.

And that was the moment when he saw her, moving that sinful body as if making love to a rhythm only she could hear.

His eyes, along with his heart followed her every move, her every dip and intricate twist; he lost sight of her for a second by a passing stranger and his heart almost stopped. She was moving her hips from left to the right, as if she balanced universes on each one and she, the mother of all galaxies, wove the fate of both with every seductive movement of her waist. Her hands criss-crossed each other in an unending dance of their own, arms covered in rags or silks he could not bring himself to care. Her hands weaved through each other, barely touching as if teasing one another, as if the very moment they touched would be the end of her dance altogether.

He was captivated.

She was captivating. His skin itched and his throat felt constricted, she had the power to bring him to his knees in seconds. His heart pounded against his chest as if it wanted to escape and bury itself into her's, to claim her body as it's home. He was captured in her trap that his clumsy, pumping blood vessel knew would never have the strength to leave.

The loud cheers and screams of relief echoed throughout the large market area as bodies collapsed in exhaustion as the musicians trailed off the unearthly song. Claps of gratitude quickly followed after, bowing modestly, the musicians looked lost and confused as if they knew not what had just happened. The heady atmosphere now broken, of the family of gathered strangers, almost a third had began to withdraw from one of the golden city's many centre squares. The youth ready to create another piece of art, were already standing and moving as one to a more upbeat tune. The elderly searching for a place to rest their tired feet, preparing for the next time their hearts became captured and their bodies helpless to the music.

He watched as she made her way to the centre of the gathering, young men watched her as she gracefully passed them and ladies glared after her with jealousy and scrutiny; her gate never slowed or sped up, she captured the people's attention with a mere glance. He could not help but narrow his eyes when a few young men began to whisper to themselves; probably conniving a plan of some sorts to capture the princess of the floor. The beat continued and the large group of youthful ages once more joined the fray of rhythm and excitement.

The evening still young, children of all sorts ran through the streets in youthful abundance, stirring up trouble and causing chaos in their wake. The elders of their city laughed joyously at the recollection of their own youth, middle age men and women either with their children or danced with the young. The release of tension for the moment left peace in it's place as the young man observed his neighbours, his community, and his city unite as one.

He stared longingly at his desire, she truly was a living, moving piece of art… But he decided a long long time ago to admire from afar, it was much safer for his poor heart.

It's been 3 years now since she joined his restaurant, promising to bring crowds of people in with her dancing alone. He remembered the rainy day she had appeared before him as he quietly continued to sweep the open front entrance of his bustling and lively restaurant.

It was spring in the Golden City, the most rain one would ever see in the desert at any time of the year. Even during the spring season not much rain ever reached the city. But on this peculiar morning, as Tack opened up his restaurant, rain poured in waves of buckets and tubs; stall owners usually set up despite the rare drizzles during this season but were completely unprepared for this type of rain. The market had stayed closed for the day until the unusual heavy down pour died down. Business continued for the silent shop owner for he actually had a roof, he opened the old, wall windows that covered the entrance and made sure the long canopy beyond the entrance shielded his customers from the onslaught of water.

One would think the rain brought cool winds and cold temperatures, but here in the desert, temperatures lived up to it's location despite the season. Due to the heavy rain, it became hotter and stickier in Tack's restaurant, hence the reason why he opened the windows. It was still quite early to open but the shop owner wanted his humble restaurant to smell and feel fresh instead of stuffy and claustrophobic.

He began his morning routine of checking the inventory, wiping down the worn out counters, and making sure that the small bowl of milk near the back door had been filled. In an hour, with his thorough inspection of his little shop complete, he began his casual sweeping around the wooden tables and stools.

His morning regulars began to fill in, an old couple and a young stall owner, both requesting a light breakfast meal from the silent shopkeeper. As he skillfully cooked both orders at the same time, rushing back and forth from the stove and chopping board, he worked swiftly with only years of practice one could accomplish. Finished in 15 minutes, the young man carried two plates in one long pale arm and the single order with the other.

As the sound of rain pattered against the streets near his shop, the quiet man slowly made his way towards the opened windows after warmly smiling at his pleased customers.

His small, humble restaurant was part of the large ring of shops and buildings that surrounded the market centre, which was usually overflowing with stalls and booths by dawn. Shops that sold anything and everything, ranging from mystical objects that had seen better days, to spices from unknown countries that shop owners could have very well made up.

The young man stared out into the dreary opening that would be bustling with life and exotic smells; but due to the weather, was now empty and quiet. As he scanned the empty area, not a child or man was in sight; about to move away from the post he was leaning against, an unusual colour caught his eye. Amongst the dark brown mud and the wooden and metal buildings, at the centre stood a figure, a man he guessed, based off of the slim, medium size and stature.

Now Tack didn't believe in the tales of ghosts or ghouls the elders used to scare the children from walking the streets at night, but this peculiar figure was in garments of the most purest of whites he's ever laid his eyes on. It's not like he was an expert cobbler of some sorts but despite his lack of knowledge in the fine silks of his country, he knew expensive silk when he saw it. Working at a restaurant that demanded expensive materials and garments, he wasn't completely lost.

The odd thing was not that this man was wearing white, many people of his country chose to wear white, whether expensive silks or rags; it was the fact that the figure continued to stand still, almost a statue of some sorts.

The form stood as if basking in the rains purity, cleansing himself from the dirt in his soul.

Suddenly, there was something indescribable tugging Tack towards the strange statue outside, something inside him telling him to approach and comfort the form soaked in rain. Yet he could not bring himself to move, whether closer or farther, was another thing Tack couldn't completely process at the moment either.

The lanky man did not realize how long he had stood there, watching the stranger, until new customers demanded his presence and his regulars were ready to pay. Quickly making his way to the counter, thoughts of mysterious men and white silk vanished from the young shopkeeper as the day progressed.

Many customers came and went, some having to wait for tables to open, his business usually boomed during the time of lunch. There were the few rare times where Tack requested a few of his customers to be a bit more patient by silently bowing to them. As the shadowed sun slowly made it's progression across the desert sky, Tack continuously cooked and restocked his supplies with patience and care; due to the closed stalls there were much more customers who desired his food and he easily complied with a warm plate and a gentle smile

Despite the few impatient customers, people left with warm and satisfied stomachs, complementing the restaurant with a promise to return on a sunnier day.

Before the chief noticed, the sky had considerably darkened and the rain had stopped it's ministrations for the time being. The calmed weather only seemed to increase his amount of customers which forced the chief to bring out old rickety tables and chairs which he bashfully gave to a young couple who only smiled assuredly to him. The young man was only grateful that his customers now were a little more understanding at his lateness for their orders, a one manned restaurant was quite difficult to handle. But they were astonished when the tall pale host came out of the kitchen with what appeared to be 5 plates skillfully balanced on each arm. Left and right he handed each piping hot meal to one customer, two customers, three!

On his way to returning to the kitchen, he picked up the payments and collected all the used and left plates, he made sure to wipe down the tables until they shown. He twisted and turned between his strategically placed tables, not once did his person numb or shove any of his occupied customers. He returned the rag into one of his many pockets in his worn-out apron and presented the now cleaned tables with a flourished hand gesture to the new customer; as the other arm balanced dirty and used plates, many wide eyes quickly turned back to their meals, this man was quick!

Orders came and left, his restaurant was lively as ever, men ordered their usual beer and both men and women ate heartily. His customers were curious as to why their talented host did not speak, some assumed he was a mute and just left it at that. No one ever asked and they just accepted that this man was quick, thorough, and a great cook.

The tightness in his small restaurant made it very welcoming and the opened entrance kept the building cool and fresh. One by one, he quickly but efficiently cleaned and washed each table, only releasing it to another customer once it was perfectly clean. His food was artistically fashioned to be aesthetically pleasing and tasted delicious to their tongues. It was a wonder how he was able to do all of this, balance it when carrying up to five or six other plates, and only charge them less than half it's worth.

Tack never worked for the money, he worked to his best ability and that was that. He always bowed gratefully when he was left a large amount of tip, pocketing the coins with the thought of restocking his ingredients in a few days. He made his way back to the kitchen so he could wash the used plates quickly for the next bunch of customers, his hands were always so dry and course; despite his young age his fingers and palms showed years of hard work and dedication.

He swept his work area clean and briefly remembered that he had to refill the milk bowl quietly sitting outside of his back door. Grabbing the glass of milk, he left a crate to prop the back door open and was just about to lean down and pour the now empty bowl a healthy amount. Bending down he realized that there was a pair of small dirty feet in front of him and the young chief nearly had a heart attack; a pair of blue eyes like his own were watching him, specifically the milk bottle. There were many homeless children running around the city, he used to be one of them until the old Master chose him.

His gaze followed the small dirty feet and took note of the wet, sleeveless shirt covered in holes that the young boy presumably used as a shirt. The young boy's cheeks were tight against the sharp edges of where youth's fat should have been. The boy's eyes struck him with such familiarity he felt himself inwardly stagger back, his eyes bruised purple underneath and hollow. He glanced down at his hand and back at the small boy; with an idea in mind, Tack held his hand up in a gesture to wait for a moment.

After a few minutes of returning, Tack breathed deeply as he gave the boy one of his large long sleeves rolled into a large bundle full of two loaves of bread, two glasses full of milk, slices of meat, and even a larger helpings of vegetables. He patted the boy's head gently and the boy could not help but hug the tall stranger in gratitude; ruffling the dirty head full of hair, Tack did not mind the contact at all. Hearing a crash and even louder yells, he gently pulled away from the little boy and waved him a silent goodbye. He paused to watch the boy run off into the night, glancing apologetically to the small milk bowl for the street cats, that was his last bottle, he'd need to visit the market once more…the crash! Rushing hurriedly back into his restaurant, it appeared that his short break had costed him patience from his customers; but nothing he couldn't handle.

Before he knew it, there were only a few minutes left till midnight; drunkards wobbled their way home and not a customer was in sight by the time the clock struck twelve. He closed the large glass windows; checking twice that the door and windows were both locked, making sure the canopy too was taken down and all the outdoor tables and chairs collected and neatly put away. He would need to wake up extra early the next morning to wipe down the windows and glasses.

As he heard the rain begin to fall in earnest, stronger with each passing minute, he chopped the last remaining ingredients and then wrapped it all in thin clean clothes, and then placed into his 'cooler', a box full of ice and insulated in metal and insulating materials.

Washing his variety of chopping boards, pots and pans that were used that day; he hung and set them all to dry for the next day of hard use. His kitchen was cleaned with a few lit candles, he then grabbed his trusted broom and took the next half hour to finish sweeping the broken glass and other remnants of his cooked meals. By now he can hear the rain as it pounded against his tin roof, wiping his brow he could feel the toll the day did on him, but he persevered knowing that once he threw out the garbage, he could lay down in a hot tub and relax his aching muscles.

All of his other belongings were simple, handed down, and worn out, but his most coveted possession had to be his bathtub. He managed to fit his gangly limbs into the white haven but once filled with water, he felt all his aches leave his exhausted body. Rolling his left shoulder, and wiping his worn apron from the dirt, the tall man made his way to the back and silently glared at the two large bags that sat there innocently.

Shoulders set, he grabbed the bags of garbage in each hand and made his way further back into his restaurant. Using his sandalled foot, he pried open the back door, making sure to close it properly; he waddled towards the large garbage heap at his left, chucking the foul smelling bags away towards the heap's general direction. Despite the rain immediately soaking his clothes, the outside quickly removed all feelings of stuffiness and warmth from his body, which felt refreshing on his fevered skin.

Dusting his hands, he turned and reached down for the bowl of milk, when a groan halted his movements; and his heart. He quickly snapped out of his bending position into a defending crouch with his back to his shop's door. What he didn't expect to see was a bundle of brown and white cloth on the wet cold ground, brown due to the mud that accumulated from the disturbed dirt around the mass. The young chief nearly had another heart attack that evening when he realized that the bundle of cloth shifted and groaned once more; it was a human!

As the rain relentlessly continued to come down, Tack began to slowly unravel and undress the supposed human, panicking slightly with the thought that he or she was suffocating. The night was full of surprises when he recognized the smooth texture of the cloth; the man in the white silk! After a few more seconds of unravelling, Tack's clear blue eyes widened and his pale complexion turned beet red, he was terribly blind; it turns out his eyes give terrible judgements.

He quickly covered the now evidently smaller and softer curved body in the fine silks, carrying the soaking wet bundle in his arms and into his warm dry shop. He brought the shivering heap into his room and connected washroom; with much effort he sat at the edge of the tub with the bundle on his lap, the wetness soaking through his already wet apron, and started to fill the tub with warm water.

His cheeks flushed and ears burning a bright red, he gently and slowly laid down the unconscious woman into his tub; expensive silks and all. With his forearms deep in the hot water, he could feel the muscles tense as the woman slowly woke and became aware of what exactly was happening; he could only pray that she didn't have a weapon on her.

"KYAAAAA! Get. Away. From. Me!" He bolted to the other side of the small room as she flailed her arms as if to hit him. His back to the bowl which he considered a sink, he raised his arms slowly as if a show that he meant her no harm.

He could not help but blush at the captivating creature in his bathtub, she was desperately trying to cover herself as best as she could, which had him stumbling out of the washroom to give her privacy for a few minutes. He looked for the smallest long sleeve he owned and rummaged for a pair of his smallest pants; it was difficult because he only had extra large in everything and his old Master's clothes.

He came up with what he needed and slowly made his way into the bathroom, making sure to shield his eyes away from the general area the woman sat quietly in, stumbling a little when he slipped on the rug. He placed the clothes on a short stool beside the tub, close enough for her to reach, and slowly made a show of removing his hands as to not alarm her even more. He heard a huff of air she exhaled and wondered if she was glaring at him.

"What's your name stranger, and why have you taken me here?" She had an enchanting voice, he could tell, though the question was made more gruff and full of sass despite the sing songy lilt she had. He reached into his many pockets in his apron and found the small object, he held it up to her silently and waited for her reaction.

"Tack. Your name is Tack."

It wasn't a direct question but more of a statement from the woman. Despite answering only one of her questions, she was still guarded and he wished he could somehow calm the gorgeous woman, so Tack returned the tack into it's rightful place and reached for the yellow toy on his sink. He gingerly shot a tentative glance towards her and a quiet 'plop' resounded as he dropped the rubber duck into the tub.

Despite the strange action with an unknown reason behind it, Yumyum could not help but stare at the bright toy, she reminded herself to be on constant guard and yet her damned heart had already warmed up to this strange man. Pausing for a moment, she cautiously reached for the toy and inspected the small bath companion; treating it as a peace offering, she gave Tack a small wary smile to which he blushed at.

Ah, if he kept this blushing habit up, she'd think him weird, but he knew it was only around her he became a fool and hoped that it would quickly dissipate in time. He was acting as if he's never interacted, much less then been in the same room with, a woman.

But gods she was captivating.

He did take her away from the dirty streets and had inadvertently invited her into his humble house when he could have simply left her there; 'he must be a decent man' she tried convincing herself. He did not use words but actions to convey himself and she found a type of charm in that; her life surrounded of people who constantly spoke to her and telling her of the many ways she should act and the many things she failed in, his silence was very welcomed.

He had the complexion of the moon, unlike any man, woman, or child she had ever encountered. She could still see his neck burn red, if she wasn't in a tub full of hot water she would have assumed that the reason the small room was moist and damp was due to his constant blush.

He turned around with his hand covering his eyes like he had done earlier, and she couldn't help but feel her guard slip, there was just something about him… "Don't you dare take a peek Mr. Tack" she muttered vehemently, slightly smirking when he wholeheartedly nodded his head with his hand still covering his eyes.

She gathered her dirty coverings and was about to stand when she heard him tap the wall loud enough for her to hear. Halting her actions, she watched him curiously as he pointed to the general area of small soaps near the tub, and then to the towel and dry clothes that innocently rested on the stool beside her. He wanted her to bathe, or he thought she would get sick if she didn't bathe quickly. She should at least be attentive around him, no matter how sweet the gesture was and no matter how much her heart stuttered.

Whatever the reason, she quietly blushed and whispered a grateful thank you and began to unwrap her silks. At some point he dropped his hands to point out the necessities to her, but at the sight of her undressing, he became a stumbling and fumbling youth, face, ears, and neck tomato red. He struggled with the door, slamming into the wall beside it as he fumbled with his clumsy fingers which were normally dexterous.

Before he could escape with his embarrassment, her voice halted him, 'Yumyum, my name is Yumyum.'

He shortly nodded his turned head, neck a flaming red, and sprinted away from her puzzled expression; she left wondering if he had an inkling of exactly who she was and what her title was.

Giggling to herself, she couldn't help but feel warmth seep back into her once numb bones; he wasn't a bad person. She hummed to herself as she washed the dirt and grime from her smooth skin, she hoped she wasn't worrying her Nanny, oh what of her father?

Despite the twisting feeling in her gut, she could not regret what she did, her father wanted her to marry that evil blue vizier ZigZag! Oh how she despised that sneaky pervert. Standing up abruptly, she sat down as quickly as she stood up, 'Not too fast' she chided herself as she felt her vision slightly spin, maybe she was a little sick, maybe it wasn't the smartest idea to walk around in a rainstorm in silk alone.

Besides the slight rust in the tub and the slight creaking in the wood, she noticed how well kept this room was. Not a spot of dust or dirt could be found, her host was quite thorough in his cleaning.

Her host. My he was tall, about six feet or more from what she could tell, she blushed at her sudden moment of boldness, recollecting his rushed and embarrassed back as he left. She slowly stood and reached for the fluffy towel, she dried every inch of herself and looked at her silks as they floated in the now dirty lukewarm water, she couldn't wear those… she couldn't use her undergarments for they too were soaked, so she simply decided to use what Tack had offered.

She hesitantly reached for the clothes on the stool and slowly pushed her head through the long sleeve sweater. She was immediately surrounded with a musky scent that she knew she could possibly get addicted to, the mere size of the body was too big and long for her; they reached her mid thigh and the sleeves about a foot or two too long for her much shorter arms.

It was surprisingly warm and the material durable but soft, where did this man get such material?! She shall request it of him and then order 5 crates full, and this scent, this aroma, was it a perfume or, she flushed madly, or was it simply his? She quickly grabbed the too long pants which she had to roll up seven times and tight enough to not drag on the floor, this man had limbs like an Arabian spider monkey!

Rolling up her sleeves as best as she could, she began the process of wringing and rubbing the dirtied white silks, mentally apologizing to Tack for using his soaps; she began to painstakingly wash her own cloths. She always had someone much lower than her to do such labours but she was not so proud to do this herself; as if she'd let her generous host clean her clothes too. After a few more minutes, she resulted in semi wet sleeves that refused to stay at her elbows, semi-white silks that clearly needed more time and effort of washing, and tired hands. 'This will do for now' she thought as she unplugged the tub, gathering and wringing the silks one last time before slightly draping them over the tubs side.

Exhausted she rolled the long sleeve back and she sat at the edge of the tub, using the towel to dry her midnight hair while she dragged her fingers through the black mass. When she finished she quietly slid the door open, not really knowing what to expect she would find behind it.

She peaked her head outside the warmth of the washroom and hugged the extra large long sleeve to her body, was it really this cold in the city? Or was this building full of holes? She tip toed her way past the neatly made cot, it may not have been a four poster bed but this late into the night, it looked extremely inviting. She also noticed how the only clutter she had seen so far was a workbench in the corner, piled high with cloths of all sorts of colours and textures; the woman had to squish the urge to look through and feel the different silks.

Yumyum noted the wooden cabinet that must have housed where Tack kept his clothing; the rich smell of wood and exotic food penetrated the small room, emitting from the closed door to her right. What she also realized was that that musky scent was not too pronounced throughout the room, it was not a type of spray or perfume of some kind; so it must have simply been Tack's scent, and she loved it.

Covering her nose with the borrowed long sleeve, she once again took a deep breath, her eyes fluttered shut as she held her breath, and released it once more. She snapped out of this spell and quickly made her way to the door; to dispel any urge to wrap herself in his blankets which she assumed promised an even stronger essence.

She almost embarrassingly stumbled down the staircase that was just beyond the closed door, holding onto the door for dear life. The petite woman slowly made her way down the creaking steps, cautiously checking behind her; rethinking whether she should return back to the warm washroom. Her stomach grumbled in complaint as she whiffed the air; the sound of something bubbling and someone chopping in a fast speed made her think twice of returning to the oasis of the washroom. Curiosity piqued, she made her way to the bottom of the stairs and peaked around the wall, there stood her silent host, hunched over a chopping board.

Tat tat tat tat tat tat he chopped the vegetables in a speed her eyes couldn't follow. His large spindly hands, each finger gently wrapped with worn out gauze or tape, handled the blade with a dexterity she had never witnessed before. This man was quite a paradox, clumsy from the waist down but skilled and trained to perfection when it came to his hands.

He slid the finished carrots to the side and began the next vegetable with such concentration that she couldn't believe how impressed she was by his chopping skills. In a hypnotized state, she made her way forward and blindly bumped into a pile of pots, which loudly crashed into her and onto the ground.

Jumping at the sudden crash into his peaceful calm, in the millisecond of distraction, Tack accidentally sliced his finger, years from constant cuts and slices here and there, he knew was not too serious. Before he even thought of what he was doing, he was gently helping up his impromptu guest from the ground, not minding his now dirty pots; making sure to see if she had any bumps or bruises.

He took her left and right arm, blue eyes squinted to see if she had been even slightly harmed, his pots were quite heavy and could do a grown man damage. Her violet eyes widened as he leaned in closer to inspect for any damage and yet the lack of distance still went unnoticed as his worry for her overcame his nervousness of simply being in her presence. Pleased he did not find anything, he finally realized their sudden close proximity, that he himself established, and the adorable blush that dusted her cheeks.

But before he could do a thing, she quickly grabbed his bleeding finger and gasped, "Tack! You're bleeding!" He merely shrugged and took his hand away from her much smaller ones and ran it through cold water in the sink beside his work area; glad he had an excuse to turn away from her so she wouldn't see his redden cheeks.

She glared at Tack's back and grabbed his hand from under the tap, she then unwound the bleeding digit and slowly covered the wound, making sure it wasn't too tight or too loose. As she worked, she couldn't see blue eyes that softened as they watched her quietly, she may appear timid but she could be pushy when she wanted to be. The fact that she wasn't kicking him for bringing her into a stranger's house was proof enough that she at least slightly trusted the chief, something he was strangely happy about.

She tapped the securely wrapped finger gently and finally released the digit; she looked up in time to see his soft blue eyes with something hidden inside, before what seemed like all the blood in his body rose to his cheeks and he swiftly turned to the boiling pot on the stove. Her own cheeks quickly matched his and she too turned away, blindly inspecting her surroundings but not exactly taking anything in. "So uhhhh Tack, I assume you live alone? How old are you exactly if you do not mind me asking?" Was that rude of her to ask? She never had before, but it appeared that he did not know exactly who she was so she continued despite what her upbringing had taught her.

Stirring silently, Tack contemplated how he should answer his guest's questions; honesty was the best policy he supposed. He nodded his head to her first question, his floppy hat slightly askew, and he blushed suddenly when he lifted his hand into a peace sign, and then held his palm open.

Twenty to five?! He was only twenty five and he ran his own restaurant, she was speechless and her respect for Tack rose greatly. She wanted to ask if he took over the restaurant from his parents or a Master, but she knew it must have been a sensitive topic so she kept her questions to herself. He quizzically tilted his head to the side to her to which she assumed he was inquiring her the same questions.

She balanced on the balls of her feet and leaned forward, the image she portrayed was of a young maiden enjoying her time; the thought bringing another onslaught of blood rushing to his already warm cheeks, was it getting too hot in his kitchen? She shook her head and her wavy hair fell over one of her dainty shoulders as she explained how she currently lived with her father, not completely going into detail to which Tack respected.

She looked away and shyly stated that she was twenty one, and that her birthday had passed recently. A fleeting thought that the city had been in full celebration a few weeks back because the princess had celebrated her twenty first birthday, he pondered for a second whether they could possibly be acquaintances, or maybe she...he vehemently shook his head, the princess in his run down restaurant?

Impossible.

A comfortable silence draped itself between the two, even when Tack finished the stew and poured her a healthy amount and showed her the way to her seat. As she quietly sat, blowing and stirring her stew, Tack went to the scattered pots and stacked three at a time and carried each stack in each arm; she must say she was impressed, despite his lanky appearance this man was strong and healthy as any other. He had lifted her easily and appeared not to struggle as he carried these pots, each weighing about a ton. She blushed and looked away when she realized that she was oogling this man, let alone stranger, like he was a piece of meat.

She concentrated on the bowl in front of her, her stomach silently growling when the smell assaulted her nose; it smelt mouth wateringly divine. After giving thanks she dove in and she nearly cried in relief; one sip had spread warmth to the very tips of her fingers. As if one of the ingredients that were mixed in simply made the soup warm, the concoction was heated to the right temperature and stirred until it was not too runny but not to solid either, almost creamy but smoothly went down without any uncomfortable feeling, quite the opposite.

The manners she had been taught went out the window as she quickly devoured her meal, ready for possibly a few more bowls. While she watched Tack wash the pots, his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows and she could see his revealed forearms, the same ones that carried her securely and she could not help but stare longingly at them. Moving to dry the pots, she snapped her gaze away as Tack moved about the kitchen casually, in that moment she decided she really liked his pale arms.

Scooping the remnants of the delectable soup, she finished in time and placed the bowl into the large sink; just in time to tug on Tack's sleeve before he began to pack away the soup.

Before he could completely turn to face her, she leaned forward to lightly place her lips against his taught cheek, relaxed back and let go of his sleeve, she sincerely looked up to the young man. "Thank you for letting me bathe. For feeding me one of the most greatest meals I've ever had the honour of tasting, I'm deeply sorry for my rude behaviour at the start; I should have shown more gratitude than suspicion." She then bowed deeply to the shocked man who began to flail his arms, trying to express to her that there was no need to apologize so sincerely and so formally. She looked up and could not cover her giggle at his misshapen appearance, standing straight once more she began to ask if there was any way for her to help him, ending the request with a terribly concealed yawn.

Eyes widening, he openly stared at her, completely captivated by this creature, and when she laughed, it was as if Mother Nature picked stars from the endless galaxies and placed them in her eyes. Her laughter sounded like wind chimes during a calm afternoon and her eyelashes fluttered close like butterfly wings; she was simply beautiful. His heart struck with cupid's sixth or seventh arrow that night and he could not resist the pull she had on him, unconsciously leaning towards the siren. ' _Be still my heart,'_ he knew that it was much too late for any more work to be done so he shook his head in negative, or was it to clear his thoughts? He then gently pushed her towards the stairway leading to his bedroom.

She rested on his lumpy cot with much protesting until she was too tired to argue, while he, with a rolled up blanket, rested in the bathtub. Glancing back one last time, he bid her a small wave of goodnight before locking the washroom door loudly so she knew that she would have nothing to fear. Despite the large size of the tub, his lanky legs still draped over the edge, it appeared that sleep eluded him. He couldn't understand his sudden onslaught of feelings, it was already late and he couldn't fall asleep; if he were to be honest with himself, it was because of the woman who was currently sleeping on _his_ cot, wearing _his_ clothes.

She was a complete stranger, no different then any customer that walked through his threshold, and yet she wasn't just another stranger, she wasn't just a customer; she was so much more. His heart confused him to no end, pulling him in one direction while his mind logically tried to reign in on his overwhelming feelings towards the woman; pulling him in the opposite direction. He tossed and turned for the next hour until his troubled soul finally found rest in the silence.

Yumyum wasn't faring any better it seemed, she desperately tried thinking of the pressing matter that she had essentially ran away from home, ran away from a political proposal, was making her Nanny and servants worry, was sleeping in a stranger's bed, and had somehow befriended the kind hearted stranger. But he wasn't just any stranger whispered her heart before she could repress it from slipping into her befuddled mind. Her mind grasped at straws, trying to logically explain her quickened pulse and her feelings when she was near him.

Physically trying to shake the thoughts away, she buried her face deeper into the comforting sheets, groaning in exasperation that yes, indeed, the sheets smelt of Tack too. Her short interactions with the young man flashed through her mind without her consent, leaving her smiling to herself, her cheeks flaming. As if she was a teenager again, she kicked her legs continuously and shook her head left and right, smiling maddenly into his pillow; this definitely was not a crush, this could not possibly be a crush, this has nothing to do with his arms or his smell, it wasn't a crush!

She restlessly fell asleep, her heart conjuring up warm and fuzzy dreams involving a certain pale man.

His inner alarm clock blared and Tack woke with a start, looking around confused as to how he ended up in his bathtub. Memories of the past night and his makeshift bed had him lifting his sore body from the cold porcelain; cracking his neck and rolling his stiff shoulders, the man looked out his washroom window to see that dawn was barely beginning. He needed to prepare his shop for the upcoming day, it was still spring and he could have another rushed day like the previous one.

Exiting the washroom, he stretched his long arms above his head, casually he cast a glance down and immediately stilled all movements and breathing.

Sleeping quietly, the woman must have moved quite a lot during the night, his large long sleeve dangerously exposing a lot of her creamy midsection, his baggy pants was worn precariously low on her hips; he could just barely see her hip bones peek out to the slowly rising sun. Her face was serene, her regal composure during the beginning of their acquaintance long lost to sleep, her thick black eyelashes hiding the prettiest jewels of the Golden city, in his opinion. Her usually upturned nose was buried somewhere in the sheets, he could see the slope of her high cheeks and the comforting rise and fall of her shoulders. Bed sheets crumpled and pushed aside, she was the perfect definition of comfortable; 'Or beauty,' whispered his traitorous heart.

He blushed crimson and slowly loomed over the unconscious body, tugging the blankets and sheets over her until only her closed eyes could be seen.

He tip toed his way down the stairs, knowing exactly which step produced no creaking or loud sounds; he didn't want to disturb his guest. Too early to open the shop, he began to take down the drying pots and wiped them clean, doing the same for the plates, bowls, glasses, and utensils. When they all glistened to his standards, he poked his head through his apron and began to tie the frisky strings together, giving up, he let it loose and grabbed his wooden broom.

Clean the kitchen before bringing out the ingredients, check. Next sweep the floors, he thought through his mental checklist as he made his way towards the door leading to the dining area and- "Omf!" Eyes wide with alarm, he turned around to see who had pulled his strings quite literally and looked down to see a tired but awake guest. "Tack, that's the first time I've ever heard you make a sound!" She smiled up at him and pointed to his back "they were untied."

He felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he had woken her. His inquiring look made her answer the unasked question, 'I'm an early riser, although I swear I wasn't so tightly wrapped in the blankets..,' she trailed off, shooting his inquiring look back at him with a slowly growing smirk as if she knew all along. He promptly ignored her look while innocently busying himself with his broom.

She smiled again and stretched her arms above her head, unknowingly imitating his actions earlier that morning, "Now, is there anything I can do to help?" He glanced back and rubbed his chin contemplatively, an idea formed, he pointed through the small windows of the doors leading towards the dining area. She pushed the doors open and looked at what exactly Tack was pointing at, glancing back she shot him an incredulous look, "You must be jesting."

As business began that morning, the market buzzed with an air of the usual excitement, lively stall owners bargained with stubborn consumers, woman jostled babies as they gathered their groceries, and children ran around; the mischievous bunches stealing from un-attended shops and hobbles. As he weaved through bustling tables balancing dirty plates and utensils he could not help the smirk from showing when he glanced back to his new 'attraction' once more. His guest sat precariously on a worn and unbalanced stool while wearing his shop's colours, a bright apron, she sat as a stand in who received his customers payments and who took his patrons orders.

She really was helping him but she could not help but complain once in awhile about the colourful outfit he had insisted she wear and exclaimed that there was a slight unbalance to the stool that he had given to her on purpose, for her to sit on. She whined it was his small revenge from when she tried to hit him before, which he only fondly chuckled as a reply to her accusations, shaking his head in amusement.

She stared gobsmacked shocked at how attractive he looked when he did that little chuckle of his. He had a slight reddening on his cheeks, cheeks that were stretched on both sides to show his straight white teeth and small dimples that she had not noticed before, she even found his teeth attractive! Turning away grumbling, she blushed and sat on her creaking stool so as to not call attention to her quickly bashful attitude; with which he naively tilted his head to the side, wondering what made her quiet so suddenly.

He kept a constant watchful eye on her, not to see if she stole or that sort, but to see if there were any… Persistent customers. The town's folks were honest and honourable people but there were always the few who did not get the hint that their attention was not appreciated. It was still early morning so he was not as worried, but he kept one eye on her at all times.

As the day progressed he was struck in awe once more by this simple creature. Children fell in love with her and one by one his customers too were captivated by her beauty and her kindness; like a princess in a child's fairy tail. After they spent their break together, him chopping and dicing vegetables and she sneaking a few ingredients to nibble on while retelling stories of the wonderful and exotic places she had traveled to or read about; he decided that today was turning out to be a great day.

As evening began to poke it's head through the cooling sky, it seemed like spring's rain would not be appearing for the rest of the night. It was just before the evening's rush hour and Tack had been sweeping the entrance of his humble restaurant.

Like the calm before the storm, his restaurant was almost close to vacant except for a couple or two, whom he had already served to and were enjoying their meals greatly. He had given her another break after she had exclaimed that her back was becoming hunched like a bent banana tree, where her whereabouts were at the moment eluded him as he concentrated on preparing for the promised rush of patrons.

A long drawn out note from a violin could be heard in the distance which he took no notice to; being in the centre of the town had it's pros, like having the chance to hear talented musicians play their instruments freely.

As he swept he could hear the plucking of guitar strings and he could imagine the notes of two unlikely instruments perform with one another, as if the musicians played only to unify their instruments together. The sounds of each instrument contrasted each other greatly, the strings of a violin produced smooth and silky notes that lulled one to sleep, while the bang and snap of a guitar had one dancing and moving under it's spell. But put together, they had one moving fluidly, dancing smoothly like silk.

Tack knew that after such a great song had begun, it promised a skilled dancer to perform, one that drew in the crowd, seducing them to join in the coming together of instruments. Taking a quick glance up, he could hear and see the slowly growing crowd that had gathered, gasps of awe and clapping could be heard- a dancer had finally joined. Even he was tempted to go up and peek at the performer, as often as you hear great songs played in the centre, it was rare for a dancer to stick around and perform; many people knew not how to and if one had the talent, they usually didn't stick around the smaller and secluded parts of the grand city of Baghdad.

It was nearing supper time and yet his part time assistant was nowhere to be seen, where she had run off to was beyond him. As he stood in her place, he welcomed in a small group of men talking excitedly of the street performance just outside, specifically the woman dancer that was attracting the multitude.

As he showed them their tables a comment struck him still, "...she's quite the dancer, how she moved with such skill. What confuses me is her costume, strange isn't it? Usually they wear silk or at least garment that's see through am I right? She appeared to be wearing a man's shirt-" at that he quickly bowed to his new customers and handed them the menu, speed walking out of his restaurant without a glance back at the confused stares.

Tack made his way through the clapping and cheering crowd, pushing and shoving as politely and gently as he could. He was quite well known and this was occurring right in front of his shop, people made way when they saw exactly who was pushing; out of respect and caution because they knew of his skill with a knife. As he finally made it to the inner circle he had to blink more times than once.

His guest/part timer was the dancer. She was the crowd maker and the crowd pleaser.

The men had been wrong; she didn't need silk or a see through costume, her skill and each step she took was captivating enough. The tacks balancing precariously on his lips almost fell when he watched her do intricate flips, backwards, forwards, in circles, she danced as if she had been dancing all her life. She didn't exactly move so fluidly around his little restaurant but he should have noticed, should have taken note of how light she was on her feet, the muscles in her calves; obvious beckons that she had done some sort of physical practice. He could not help but stare in awe as she moved, underlining the true beauty of a guitar and violin duet. She moved with such speed and grace his eyes could not catch up to her in time, she was spell binding, but to be more precise, she was the one casting the spells.

The unique duet ended, the song finished too quickly and he was pulled forward 3 years later, at the present time, standing and watching the princess dance in the courtyard with her own people once more.

The past 3 years rushed back to him as if a very far, very distant memory, or memory of a forgotten dream.

 _Oh._

The evening had darkened significantly and he must have zoned out for a while, and yet he can still pick her out in a multitude of swaying bodies. She had a small satisfied smile on her rosy lips, her hair whipping around her and he can feel himself once more slip back into a memory when that playful smile was directed to him. He shook his head violently, his hat flopping this way and that, and leant against his worn broom casually, feigning ease that did not show his flustered inner self.

She did not come often, or as often as she would have liked to, he knew, he also knew his shop was her own secret oasis from her life of prestige and nobility. He also knew that somehow, some way, she had become his own personal oasis from his repetitive routine of a life. How foolish he was to think she would stay by his side as a friend, a coworker, and hopefully even more…

It was a complete and utter shock when she revealed to him what he did not see from the start; it was a wonder how he did not know and for such a long time.

But that's another story altogether.

Their friendship only grew stronger but so did his blossoming feelings, feelings he knew were forbidden and impossible. So he told himself day after day that he was satisfied by simply being near her, subjecting himself to an eternal, one-sided, romance with an out-of-his-reach princess.

Closing his eyes, head bent and shaking, he drew away from his viewing spot and continued on with his customers constant demand for his cooking. Sounds penetrated his once silent and serene state of thought and his body quickly jumped into the fray of shouting customers and attention seeking dirty plates and tables. He did not run or panic and with years of experience, he took all of the needed orders and leftover plates in stride, meeting all of his patrons demands with a silent smile. Making a mental checklist of needed ingredients, Tack buckled down for another chaotic night, his thoughts miles away from his deeply buried feelings towards one princess in particular.

* * *

 **Author's Note or whatever people call these. Disclaimer I think they call it?**

 **Okay guys. I don't own a thing obviously, if I did, oh man, I'd finish the recobbled cut and make sure everyone knew that Aladdin had practically stolen this movie's storyboard. Sorry to all the Aladdin fans but the truth is in the pudding people. (Proof, truth, same thing) I own that at least. I might continue this, might not, we'll see. Enjoy and I hope you have a good day.**

 **P.S. Is it washroom or wash room? And yes autocorrect, I know Yumyum sounds absurd but I have no choice okay?**


	4. The Cursed Pillow - Part 1

**Disclaimer:** I'm still not really good at this disclaimer thing. Here's a really long and messy one-shot. There's probably a lot of verbal diarrhea messily thrown here and there but meh, I wanted try try this plot for a while, OH! That's mine, the plot I mean. Characters aren't mine, the setting and City aren't mine. All belong to you-know-who. Yeah that wasn't mine either.

So what started off as a spiel (autocorrect changed shpeal to spiel, ain't that neat?) ended up being a full blown thingy, so bare with me.

A lot of politics and such, prepare thyself. Slight M okay, SLIGHT M. I WARN THEE. Sorta implied but nothing too explicit.

I played with the idea that Tack could look pretty intimidating if he fixed his stare towards you, his silence could make people feel uncomfortable and unsure of how to act or how to respond to someone like him. Tack is a tad bit (coughreallyreallyreallycough) talkative here, so OOC alert, you've been warned!

* * *

She was cold.

Cold meant the lack or absence of warmth or heat.

Which honestly didn't make much sense to her.

She was wrapped securely in her husband's thickest long sleeve, wearing his baggiest pair of comfortable wool pants, and the smallest pair of socks she could find in his drawer abundant of materials; she couldn't say clothes because his old habits of all fabrics going into one space had yet to wear off.

The borrowed clothes were well worn, some had holes and questionable frayed edges, strings left sticking out and uncut. His shirts and sleeved shirts came in many neutral colours, some colours she couldn't even put a name to, which had obviously seen better and brighter days. Some had criss-crossed, colourful patchwork clumsily sewn on to them and a few lucky ones appeared to survive long years without any mismatching patches. His shirts appeared to look stuffy and stiff but once worn, it felt like the finest of silks against her skin. He being a former cobbler and very well versed in an array of textures and colours of material, she wouldn't have been surprised if her husband had actually found the highest quality of fabric in the world.

After gazing at the ceiling of intricate and complex patterns of shapes and colours, a ceiling she had become well accounted with on such nights, a sigh of frustration escaped the queen's pouty lips.

The Golden country was never entirely asleep, streets were always lit despite the lurking shadows behind unturned boxes. Silence never lasted too long between households and restaurants, whether it was the creak of old wood or the screech of grating metal. Back alleys and pathways always held a sense of mystery and undiscovered adventure, yet, hand in hand, promised darker, more terrifying nightmares. Feet, covered or uncovered, always scuttered quickly across paved stones, creatures of the night awake and moving. Wind whistled past structures, spooking and teasing sleeping children. It would ghost along dome roofs and would rustle restless cloth, whether curtain or dirty rags. Stray animals and people howled into the night, for reasons of pain and loneliness alike. Flavourful scents from the days baked goods or well cooked meals would dance mockingly under the noses of empty grumbling stomachs.

No, her city never slept.

There she laid in their shared bed, listening to the thrum of her city, probably the warmest body currently resting in her palace.

And yet she was cold.

Not an inch of her skin revealed itself and yet her arms were littered with gooseflesh, small hands wrestled with the thick comforter and her feet kicked out from underneath her, she shifted and fidgeted into a position that was passable enough to try fooling her body into another night of sleep.

It was probably passed midnight and heading towards the early hours of day.

After another groan of frustration, she twisted her body's position once more, kicking her legs hazardously out of the once comforting and now suffocating blanket, she rolled off of her side of the bed and onto his.

What a mistake.

She was instantly remind of why she had securely wrapped herself in _her_ blankets on _her_ side of the bed and away from _his_.

It was inevitable honestly.

Lilac eyes widening a fraction then instantly shutting, she carelessly buried her face into the mattress, all the while forcing out all the air in her lungs so that she could take one large-

Inhale. She took long deep inhalations, capturing the smell and holding her breath, like a child dared to hold their breath underwater, for as long as she could. She tried her best to trap the essence before releasing a long and drawn out breath. His scent had been worn out of the clothes she wore that night in the first few days he had left and already she craved his return. Face still buried in the mattress on his side of the bed, another bout of childish selfishness attacked the queen's beating organ.

He promised it would only take a few days, less than a week he had said.

It has now been fifteen days bordering sixteen and she was currently losing her will of leaving their shared mattress every morning, even pushing away her duties of a political step-in leader for the moment. Yes she knew it was childish, yes she knew she was acting ten or even twenty years younger than her age, but come on, this is the longest time he's left her side. She knew letters were out of the option as it would have taken one week for a letter of greeting to arrive (she knew, they've tried), she couldn't complain because this was an extremely serious matter that he could not easily say no to, despite being the king.

But he promised and he always tried his best in keeping them. She had nothing to complain about, she knew what she had to endure the moment she said her vows to the man. The man who was currently lacking and she knew that despite not returning in the time he promised, he will still return to her arms.

But that did little to ease her frayed nerves.

Gods she missed him.

She couldn't even stay mad at him while he was away, she couldn't even pretend; trust her, she tried.

She already knew that the stage of forgiveness had been passed and pure yearning for him to return had been all that was left. One does not understand the true meaning of patience until the due date of an anticipated arrival had been delayed for an unmentionable amount of time, never knowing when and helplessly left to just wait and see.

She was pushing herself, she could feel the emotional strain affecting her physically. She smiled at her servants less and less, tuned out her father's snores and speeches altogether, even visited Tack's shop more frequently than was socially acceptable, despite being cleaned out and rebuilt. Her Nanny grew more and more concerned for her as each day passed, despite her constant reassurance, made up of poorly thought up excuses that Queen Yum-Yum was quickly running out of. The nights were hard and fitful, Yum-Yum never leaving the bed with more than three or four hours of restless sleep.

The country he was visiting, Bhasa, had been causing a commotion for a few months now near the southern borders of the Golden country, but it was only recently that a formal declaration of war had been sent by bird to the king. After two weeks of consulting his committee, making plans of peace offering and alternative routes, and preparing for a long journey, the king had set off to face the looming promise of war.

She understood his position, she grew up around the snooty hierarchies, monarchies, impossible-to-deal-with political leaders, and he hadn't. And yet he jumped head first into the debauchery of politics with a lingering kiss to her temple and a promise to return to her side in week's time.

Unhealthy bouts of 'what ifs' attacked her daily after the ninth day passed and his return still prolonged, her thoughts filled with turmoil and distress over his safety constantly. On her daily walks through the markets of her Golden city, her ears were always peeked, always tentative and listening silently for any mentionings of raids; radical groups; or political leaders being kidnapped in the neighboring country.

She learned that her citizens were quote the gossipers.

Sighing for the umptenth time that day- or was it early morning already? She reluctantly pushed herself off his side of the mattress, one arm helplessly covering her vivid violet eyes while the other draped precariously onto his side, her right hand landing on an object that easily deflated under her weight. Raising her arm curiously, she shot an annoyed glance at what could possibly interrupt her brooding mood at a time and place such as here and now. His pillow.

Gingerly, she hesitantly reached towards the inviting object near their headboard, it lay there innocently as if it did no wrong. Her temptation to bury her nose in this specific object plagued her thoughts each night, when their chamber was doused in darkness. But before her fingers even touched the soft fabric, she narrowed accusatory eyes towards the offending cushion and in a fit only on the level of a well known and mature queen could possess- she whipped the white plushy headrest at the wall with all the force she could muster. Deflating against the pristine marble wall, she felt mocked as she saw that the pillow hadn't even made a sound when it hit the hard surface, not like she was expecting it to cause any real damage or large commotion.

Miffed, she hastily turned and grabbed whatever blanket she could reach, cocooned herself, encasing her petite frame in her blankets, and grumbled incoherently about offensive pillows as she felt slight anger bubble up inside her towards the innocent object. Who even had pillows, who had the bright idea of even placing such an offensive, ...such an offensive _thing_ in her bed chambers, she would have their necks wringed, who had the audacity to even have such a thing, who-

It was _his_ pillow.

As the thought crossed her mind, she noticeably deflated, her shoulders drooping instantly; she physically and mentally felt her childish anger leave her being, a cold and empty feeling of loneliness left behind. Long lashes nearly kissed her cheek as her eyes fell onto their shared mattress, downcasted.

Gods. Where was her clumsy husband to laugh at her childish tendencies.

She released an imprisoned arm underneath her to prop herself up and casted a quick glance over her shoulder at the white object sitting on the floor. It was leaning against the wall, as if it was patiently watching her this whole time while she internally struggled with herself.

With a resigned sigh, she liberated the tight grip she had on her bed cover and freed the rest of her body from the bed. A shiver raced up her spine when her bare foot touched the cold surface of the floor, already she longed to return to the safe haven that was their bed.

Quickly gazing once more at the item, _his_ item, on the floor; she heaved a resigned sigh and with much difficulty; escaped the clutches of comfort and ambled her way towards the plushy cushion she had once felt such anger towards.

She timidly reached for the cold pillow and hugged it to her tight chest. If he had slept with her the previous nights, she would have been able to smell the scented oils he used to wash his hair. They used the same oils, much to everyone's surprise, the scandal! He had refused the exclusive soaps and oils that were traditionally given to the king and had demanded to use the same ones she, the queen, used, much to everyone's chagrin. She had flushed rouge and waved away their inquiring gazes with a promise to speak to him later on the matter.

Much to her curiosity and amusement, he refused to answer her when the topic had been brought up; he had quickly glanced away so as to not look into her delighted eyes in case he became spellbound by her and all hope of keeping the answers to himself would vanish at her command. However, it did not bother her in the least so she halted her inquisition and the topic ended there. She felt a small genuine smile creep onto her lips at the memory of another warm moment shared between her lover, the moment she realized that despite using the same oils and soaps, Tack still held onto his unique and male musk, his own personal elixir in her opinion, one she dearly longed to whiff at this very moment.

Only a dull aroma held itself in between each individual stitch of the cover and she hugged his pillow closer, eyes slightly prickling with tears and the tell tale ball of nerves forming at the base of her throat began to form.

Damnation! Even bathing became a physically difficult feat nowadays because of him!

When she was doused in the fragrant oils, her sense of sight and taste would shut down, the sensitivity of her awareness to smells and textures increasing greatly.

All of a sudden it was his smooth, unblemished, chest ghosting against her shoulder blades; his soft reassuring hands combing their way through her black tresses. It was his shaky breath licking the sensitive skin of her nape, his strong and firm forearms that her hands desperately grasped onto for support, not the porcelain edge of the large tube. It was his dark, promising chuckle that shook her very core, reverberating in the bathing chambers; not the loud gurgling produced by the drains as the lukewarm water drained into the pipes. It was the closest she'd ever been, she thought with clouded want fogging her vision, to going mad.

All she could think of was how she felt surrounded by him, despite the lack of his unique scent that usually mingled with the essence. It left her breathless and aching for him. She felt thoroughly and completely powerless in those moments.

Inhaling gulps of air, she heavily exhaled through her nose as the bout of sadness passed gradually, angrily swiping away any rebel tears that latched itself onto her lashes; she mentally berated herself. She was not going to be the helpless damsel in distress, she had been ruling this country, successfully she coldly added, and she could last another week or however long he wished to disappear for.

With a huff, she wrapped herself in a cloak of shimmering anger and began grumbling to nothing in particular once more. She dragged her cold feet towards their bed, trudging forward with newfound vigor and plopped lazily onto her back. The pillow still clutched closely to her chest. Her exhausted mind had finally caught up to her tired body, and it was almost nearing daybreak, eyes drooped and her arm instinctively hugged the pillow impossible closer; she shifted unceremoniously onto her side and burrowed her nose into his pillow.

Too tired to even pull the covers over herself, the queen laid precariously on top of their comforter. Her brow furrowed and a pout left on her plump lips, the restless queen found solace in the arms of unconsciousness.

Her mental count ticking off another day without her husband by her side.

-x-

He was dangerously close to wringing their necks.

Tack honestly considered himself to be a gentle spirit at heart with a bottomless amount of patience that rivalled his close and unexpected friend, that just so happened to be a thief, that like he, rarely spoke.

But this was pushing his already worn out patience and he was very close to the precipitous of his mounting anger. His composure was key in most of the situations he found himself in in the past two weeks and he diligently endured, even when he felt like he would snap from these imbeciles that dared to paint her beautiful city in words of deceit and lies.

He felt the physical weight of all eyes in the room bore down on him. Aggressive glares aimed at his person from across the table, were full of doubts on his decisions and glee at seeing his internal struggle.

His royal blue robes, silk to the touch, calmed him as he traced the comforting gold star patterns that were sprinkled throughout the blue backdrop; thick gold bands sewn into the edges were a familiar place for his fingers to lovingly stroke. Unperturbed, his hooded eyes rose from his long skeletal fingers, he was all too aware that this was a battle of wills; a battle he had willingly opened his arms to in order to keep her securely by his side.

Thunderous waves of longing and loneliness rose up unbidden and he almost released a choked gasp at the suddenness, unprepared for the near death grip the mere thought of her had on his heart. Shutting his eyes quickly and upholding the posture of pensively thinking, he stifled his raging emotions within, pushed them into the recesses of his mind and his pounding organ. Calm he begged his heart, please. There was no place for feelings in this cut-throat arena. He bid all thoughts of her away from his waning concentration and focused on the situation at hand. Calm and finally collected after a few seconds of panicked breathlessness, Tack fixed his hard gaze towards the leaders of Bhasa.

From the past two weeks he had noticed a very crucial key in all of these passing days full of pointless arguments and debates.

The country of Bhasa's political leaders were scared.

They were intimidated by the king of the Golden City.

He emitted an aura of authority when sitting in the middle of his council and he faced the accusing leaders head on, a silent force of conviction with the capability of crushing any opposing forces.

It was installed in him that in order to keep her securely in his arms, he had to amount to their demands and whims until he had reached his country's expectations, reach and exceed them he did.

It was only because of her that he even had the chance to prove himself, it was only because of her that he persevered. She was his reason and his steel backbone since the moment fate had blessed him the day he set his unworthy eyes on her beautiful form.

A weak groan echoed in his mind when he realized where his thoughts had led him to once more. He pushed the thoughts of his tempting wife back where he had jammed the rest of his longing for his queen, right beside his waning self restraint that had kept him this long away from her arms.

Years of strict lessons, sleepless nights full of cramming and scrolls piled high enough to reach the ceiling, decisions that had led to failures, and enduring classes that pushed him to the brink of dead exhaustion only to repeat the next day; had been worth the moment he was declared worthy to stand beside her on equal ground. He had come a long way from the fumbling pauper sprawled out on the streets and he was proud of who he was and of who he had become.

Yes he had changed dramatically from his simple cobbler days, but that is not to say that he was a different man. He held on to what he believed to be was right and for the greater good for his people, he believed that he led his people with a just and balanced system and he never sought for anything more than what he had. He was unprejudiced and he interacted with other leaders courteously and reasonably.

But when it came to useless discussions such as these, Tack had to draw the line somewhere.

He did not speak often, but when he did all eyes and heads were turned and he was given all who were present's undivided attention. This silent power he emitted intimidated and aggravated the opposing leaders and they verbally attacked Tack and his council day in and day out. What had started out as a peaceful meeting of discussion had bubbled into a raging inferno of bruised pride and whispered talk on both sides.

Tack did not wish to exploit this new found power he held over the opposing side but the fact still remained and his councilmen had readily demanded he take violent actions against their proposition of war. Recriminations of false raids and stolen goods, assassination attempts and false records of harmed citizens had been brought up in this long droned out meeting of the two strong countries; and Tack had had enough.

His teachers and guardians would have commended him for his patience if they knew of his situation.

No one dared to push the silent man, not one had the courage to see what exactly would happen if the pale king was aggravated further than he already was. If one were to walk by an open door to this room full of diplomats and political leaders and peered inside, one would think that the silence had meant there was some progress being made between the two countries.

But what was not obviously displayed for outsider eyes, was that the silence meant the brooding before an all consuming storm hit its intended target. Tack pierced his glacier eyes onto the men sitting opposite him and he openly glared, not a sound escaping the erratically beating hearts of those witnessing such a cold and vacant stare. His subordinates, both young and old, internally flinched away at the dark aura that surrounded their leader. This was possibly the closest they had seen their King act so aggressively towards other political heads and the councilmen internally sighed, not for the first time, a silent sigh of relief that Tack was their leader and never on the opposite side of the table to them.

Without consulting his councilmen, Tack wordlessly reached into the manila folder innocently resting under his long interlaced fingers and pulled out neatly stacked files and forms. They were crisp and clean, not a speck of dirt or a disgraceful crease could be seen. The tension in the room rose to heights only Tack could have caused with his unprecedented actions; as the silent and intimidating man continued to remove file after file onto the dark mahogany wood table.

Good. He had their attention.

All occupants in the room waited with baited breath as they watched the king form organized and neat piles of documents. Nervous eyes widened in horror with recognition at what exactly had been presented on the table, fear and anger boiled dangerously close beneath skin as the opposing leaders began to flush silently at the gravity of their situation. Hands trembled and shook, palms became slicked with sweat; the temperature rose with the tension to suffocating levels. Tack once more gazed towards the men once more, finished with the forms resting innocently in front of him.

Before one of his cocky subordinates commented something unnecessarily, Tack rose his hand to silence the foolish man. This needed to be done professionally or else whatever the man said could have caused the Golden Country's citizen's safety and he would not tolerate such a thing.

"I have reason to believe that your accusations of the infidelities that my fellow country men had committed against your citizens have been all but that, accusations." His deep voice shocking the occupants on both sides of the table, he had never spoken a peep in the past sixteen days until now. He stood tall and proud, his chair barely making a noise as the back of his knees stretched the towering figure to his looming height. His words were above a whisper but appeared to boom in the ears of the jostled and slowly panicking men sitting in front of him.

"These are first hand reports of the farmers, citizens, men and women, from both sides of the border; from what I have read from all of the one hundred and four accounts, none of your statements align with either citizens." His patience bellied his next actions as he gently placed both open palms over said documents and leaned closer to the heavily breathing leaders, whose faces began to flush by each passing second.

Before a brave leader could gasp out a rebuttal, Tack quickly pierced him with a cold look, "Yes, they are all authentic and have been approved by _your_ councilmen, which appear to have the mental capacity of actually listening to the citizen's instead of jumping to aggressive action without taking into account the consequences."

He paused for a moment and shook himself internally, stay focused, he chided.

"Most of the conflict that we have encountered had been from the rebel groups that you had failed to mention even once these past two weeks of meetings. The Golden City will continue to tolerate your pointed fingers but before forcing the blame of your failed control over rebel groups onto my innocent citizens, I must strongly _advise_ you to think thoroughly of your actions and the consequences they may have on the thin treaty between both countries."

A collective gasp forced its way out of tight throats, the room instantly dousing in cold frigid temperatures at the hidden implications of the mighty king.

A brave soul, or possibly a stupid politician, growled, his face flushed red as he shot up from his seat, causing his chair to fall over with a loud clatter. A large finger pointed accusingly at Tack who looked on impassively, his poised demeanor deterring the reddening man. "How dare you condemn us of lying and cheating," he spluttered to make coherent sentences as all eyes shot towards him, some of his fellow men shooting looks of warning and panic towards the politician.

"It was your maggot people that burned down our land and stolen our goods, this has nothing to do with the rebel groups, which you had no business in knowing, snooping around like the slimy king you are! Your city probably lied and cheated their way to where they are today and I wouldn't be surprised if the political system is as corrupt as the One-Eyed !"

Deathly silence reigned down on the room and only the huffing of the politician could be heard.

He calmed his erratically beating pulse, he hurtled promises of his queen's embrace at his self control, said control dangerously slipping through his fingers like the sand of this country. Years of practiced patience had allowed him to diminish his growing instinct to casterate this particular _man_ that dare called himself a leader.

The audacity of them to freely criticize her beautiful people, mock and antagonize the blood, sweat, and tears, she invested into her country, point dirty fingers at the hard work she dutifully governed.

The silence that followed consumed all present and invisible hands choked the man as Tack stared him down with his eerie blue gaze. The varying temperatures clashed, both extremes of panicked heat and merciless cold battled in the small meeting chamber, all occupants torn from either shivering in their robes or pulling at tight collars.

"You have been sprouting incessant lies these past few days, lies with which have no physical proof or background. I have stood by and bore through them, I took no offence to your accusations towards my country while you continued to disrespect it so openly in front of me." This time his voice really was at the level of whispers, dropping octaves below his normal level, that some men and women had to lean close to hear the anger filled words.

Do not let his words distract you from the main point, do not let him draw you into pointless circles that will cause this debate to continue on to another day.

No. He was finishing this now.

"Both my workers, and if you had payed any attention, your people, had unceasingly spread far and wide from border to border, searched high and low for any proof to back your accusation. Yet each party came back with more proof against your rebels and more evidence that the Golden Country had no hand in this." At the mention of proof, the door swung open and helpers carried stacks of documents and folders and obediently set the piles down on the available surface of the table that the king had vacated.

"Your false lies and deceit, which is against the law, could have you and the entirety of your congregation thrown into the jail house in less than a day." Even the man that had so pressingly accused him took a step back at the now hostile fixation.

He silently regarded each quaking man with a frozen stare, piercing each with a silent challenge to further irk his ire towards them, "My company and I have been nothing but courteous and patient with these nonsensical meetings, and you better pray to the gods above that our Queen is as forgiving as I."

"I believe we are finished with discussing war between the two respective countries?" When not one man or woman responded, Tack nodded his head as a silent confirmation. The tension broke soon after between the two parties and murmurs spread through the room quickly, sweat dropped and lungs were able to properly function once more as air was finally allowed into the room.

The two countries were once more in a tentative yet peaceful relationship. For now.

Tack continued to stand silently, assessing each and every man's face to gauge their reaction to see if in their gaze there laid hidden any leftover anger or malice towards him. All he could see were resigned faces of tired men, their fight leaving them in the face of the consequences of their actions.

Tack can clearly see that Bhasa did not have a strong political base, forcing the whole system to balance dangerously on lose laws and weak legs. Sitting before him were men that could not come together, which sadly, in turn, caused an internal rebellion force to quickly rise up against the weak law. They had had enough from the lack of support that the government refused to provide, well at least based on the reports he had meticulously poured his attention over. These rebellions caused terror and fear to grip the citizens, forcing them to look at these men for guidance with which they could not provide.

Pity strongly overwhelmed him and Tack struggled to decide what to do.

If he were to step in now, this country will depend heavily on him, he would need to oversee areas of power so that decisions were made for the people and not to fatten up these men any further. Not only would the attention he held towards his country be divided, they had never formally asked for his helping hand in their dire situation altogether, his invasive actions would be seen as a take over.

But if this city were to become crippled, the Golden Country's dependence on their resources will cause business to deplete significantly.

He was stuck.

He had finally finished what was needed to be done but an unprecedented situation had reared it's head right after. The future well being of his country was in slight risk but was he ready to govern another city?

' _What would Yum-Yum do?_ ', a small voice crooned in the back of his mind.

He looked at the forlorn faces of the men sitting in front of him. He decided then and there what he must do.

He silently made his way back to the table and took out another folder that he knew would seal the deal between the two regions. The king then proceeded to bring out files and to the other party's astonishment, what looked to be profiles of the rebels groups, manila folders of about two dozen, centimeters thick, spilt open; names of individual men and women messily scribbled onto each one as sketches in kohl reached the men across him. He stood tall once more, his height looming over all those who quickly followed their king's lead; they stood waiting for Tack's further orders.

Tack glanced at the files and the piles of paperwork that he and his council had to produce, the hard work his agents and subordinates had to endure in order to meet his demands in such a short amount of time. Glancing about the tense room, the wasted time and energy that had taken place inside these four walls. His gaze swept towards the pitiful men once more, calculatingly assessing the situation before continuing his piece.

"You have greatly offended the face of the Golden City. Count your blessings that they sent the king and not my counterpart, she would have immediately sent you all to the gallows for half the things you've smeared the name of her country with."

The political leaders left sitting behind stared openly, eyes wide and almost bulging with their jaws slack. Adam's apples bobbed at the insinuating comment. If they thought the king was dangerously intimidating, they did not want _any_ future encounters with the Queen of the city; _the_ Rose of the land, or so the whispers that followed her called her with reverence.

"Despite your transgressions and accusations aimed towards the King in the past few days, the Golden City will be overlooking such treason and is extending a hand towards your country, if our forces or resources are in dire need, please," he paused momentarily and looked at the poorly lost men sitting down; his eyes softened with sympathy, his rough tone soothing out to an almost whisper, "Contact us and we will derive an appointed day convenient for both parties to meet and civilly discuss."

He ended the meeting with a soft inclining of his head.

Tack nodded his head once in a quick motion and his company quickly shuffled out of the stuffy room, the tension of his speech still hanging in the air. Tack's personal Royal Guard, Roofless and the Brigands, stood at attention waiting for their king to exit the room, respect radiating off him and his men as they had once again seen the strength that the silent man possessed.

Tack had put his foot down in concrete decision against his councilmen as he fought to keep the loyal Brigands as his guard. Much to the council's dismay, the young king would not budge or even open a point of negotiation, reluctantly appeasing the fuming king and accepting the rough ruffians as the Royalty's personal guard.

The king nodded when passing the burly men, comforted with the thought that after hours of standing on guard outside of the meeting room, his men were finally able to rest.

The King slowed his brisk pace and lagged to the back of his company, quietly observing as the tension visually left his high strung supporters and councilmen. They made their way past beautiful palace corridors, the path now memorized after two weeks; potted plants or varying sizes and vases of jade and aloe Vera greeted them as they ventured further and further away from that damned room. They passed gorgeous open windows and smoothly carved marble pillars as the sun bled outside, coating the opposite walls they easily passed with striking shades of oranges and reds. He quietly observed the setting sun, taking note the chilly bite of the wind as it scurried past the legs of his company. It was colder here he absentmindedly noted, something he could tell her once he returned.

Despite having full confidence in their king, they could not entirely predict the outcome of the eminent possibility of war between both countries. Sleepless nights full of scouting groups, scribbled on maps, and rations shared; the king shut his eyes and sent a prayer of gratitude above for the people who were already joyously celebrating in front of him. He could not have had the confidence to be so aggressive with his decision if it were not for their research and their sweat that was put into finding each rebellion member.

For the first time in two weeks, the mighty king finally relaxed his shoulders, his left hand grabbing his right shoulder and unceremoniously rolling his right arm around, rotating it clockwise repeatedly before stretching both arms high above his head until a loud pop was heard.

A guard that walked in step beside her king (what had finally become a norm after Tack demanded to walk with his guards as equals, much to everyone's amazement), watched in amusement as her king repeated his arm stretches on his opposite arm. After he had finally felt more at ease, she sent a sidelong glance to the king's slightly slouched posture.

"Shall we head home, your Majesty?", she inquired quietly.

Tack slowly turned his tired gaze to the young, albit short, female guard at his side and grinned warmly at the mention of finally returning home after such a prolonged trip. Unbeknownst to him, her cheeks traitorously bled crimson at the sudden action, she quickly excused herself from his presence to which he obliviously nodded his assent; despite being a few years older, he was still quite the handsome man.

As she scurried away from his side, she mentally berated her behavior. She rejoined her celebrating brothers as she mentally chided herself; as a personal guard and a new member of the Brigands, she couldn't behave like a lovesick schoolgirl! Especially towards her charge! No matter how handsome his smile made his visage look and no matter how enticing his silent charm could be.

He was an ignorant heartbreaker when he resided in the palace as a young king-in-training, all female guards and handmaids could pitch in their wistful encounters with the young man. Gone were his rugged and worn clothes of a pauper man, replaced with fine silks and shirts that were meant to be tucked into his trousers, but because he hadn't gotten used to such life style, he had casually left un-tucked. Whispers would follow the halls he walked through and the mute man had falsely assumed that he was being judged, looked down upon; when it was actually quite the opposite.

Alas, that is story is for another time.

As the kind guard left his side, Tack continued to follow his company, impatient to get back to where they have been residing so that they can quickly pack, then quickly leave for the Golden City. In a manner of haste and speed he silently prayed.

If he thought those measly leaders were the real test on his patience, he wasn't sure what the slow two day journey would do to his already straining patience. If he hadn't made it this far he would have thought that the gods were playing a cruel and sick game on him, placing bets on how long it would take before his control finally snapped.

Heaving a deep sigh, the thought of home at that very moment sounded perfect to his tired heart.

My desert Rose. Wait for me a little longer.

-x-

As his lithe, predatory form finally disappeared out of sight, a collective sigh filled the now wary silence that hung heavily over their aging heads. The sunset leaked through the heavy curtains and the dying sun beams danced over the files messily scattered about the table; shadows stretching and lurking behind unopened folders.

They had just had their behind quite shamefully handed to them and with piles stacked high of evidence and sketches of the real criminals, dread and shame filled their chest cavities; they had so ignorantly pointed at the next person closest to their borders. They pushed all their problems onto the innocent, not only wasting their time and resources, but wasting the other country's time and energy. Who's bright idea was it to declare war on such an unexpected opponent?

My did they point at the wrong person to blame.

Never again will they purposely antagonize the Golden City and their leaders after having such a memorable taste of their king.

-x-

The moon sat over them, overseeing every moving form; it played with the stars and casted shadows as if it was the sun of the night. The bright disk was almost full but not quite, the tallest being towering over any poor architectural structure, a mockery of measurement when it came to height. A smaller moon, not in the shape of a circle, roamed the hallways and passed corridors as the earthly king made his way back to his own personal room.

After walking through the lounges his underlings resided in, personally bowing and thanking each member, promising a day of rest or an increased salary at their return; Tack finally closed the solid door to his own personal lodging. He shot a wary glance at the cold and bare walls that looked back at him silently, it was never the same when he left the secure and comforting walls of the Golden city. His blue eyes dropped all pretenses when in his own privacy, light electrifying blue irises took in his dark surroundings.

The room held the standard king sized bed, much to his dismay, when he had politely declined such extravagances and asked for a simple cot. He would have cracked a small chuckle at their comical expressions if he hadn't been serious. His eyes glazed over the large side table and stared at the small and simple bouquet of flowers that innocently rested in a small glass vase, conveniently placed on the ledge of the open window.

Every other country or city he had set foot in always felt wrong in its own way, there were many certain aspects that reminded him of his home, sometimes they were painful to the point of forcing him to look away, and sometimes there were aspects that left him with a warm ache in the center of his chest.

The sight before him set his broad chest ablaze and he urged himself to look away from the painful image. But despite his aching heart, he found himself tentatively walking towards the small bundle of flowers.

She had large pots of ferns and plants; some had long spindly arms that would droop whenever she had forgotten to water them. They were scattered randomly throughout the palace, he unconsciously smiled, as he reached the window's ledge. Fond memories of simple late evenings, their joined hands gently swaying forward and back between them as they walked side by side, watering each and every plant, always making sure to reach every single one.

In their room there were at least two large..well, he couldn't exactly call them pots because the mere size of them, spanning about a meter in diameter, were huge. He admittedly tripped and bumped over them more times than he could count on both hands, and he couldn't confidently put names to all them.

His right hand had been softly glossing over the purple petal of the flower as the memory melted away. His eyes once more faded into dull blue and he released a sigh into the night as he dropped his outstretched hand.

Turning and walking away swiftly, he kept his mind occupied as he quickly sorted and organized his possessions, packing for tomorrow's journey,

What he abhorred the most were nights away from his bed. Their bed.

All nights bled into one big, lonely, and pitless emptiness. It painfully reminded him of a time long before his diplomacy, where he sat in a dark and lonely prison cell, dug deep into the earth, with only mice and a large ball of chain as companions. He didn't know which was more torture, being that much closer to her in the same palace with only a few floors below her bedchamber for distance; or when he was millions of miles away from her lying in a cold bed while she rested in theirs.

He would sometimes chuckle at the irony, he worked his hardest to keep her at his side, which only resulted in driving him further and further away from her's. He could only hope that she was able to rest in the familiarity of their bed. A selfish part of him, a part that he made sure never saw the light of day, wished that she slightly felt off balanced without his presence, but his worry for her well being overcame such dark thoughts.

Temptation licked at his heart as the thought of unearthing her silk scarf wrapped around the small amount of oils he had left, pressed down on his all too aware consciousness. He had rationed his use of the precious soaps until one stressful night led him to use up almost all of her oils, the night he had broken his promise to her. He shook his head, her scent alone would not tame his thundering heart this time and he knew it would only be a waste.

Shaking the melancholy thoughts from his mind as best as he could, Tack prepared for another sleepless night. Stripping down and changing into loose bottoms, he stood before the inviting mattress. Moon beams streaked across his naked chest, but if her eyes weren't there to appreciate the view, he held no care for it. Blue eyes glared at the bed, stared relentlessly as if he expected the bed to start sweating profusely in nervousness.

Yum-Yum was supposed to be _right there_ , she would have one of her curvaceous legs strawn across the blankets, her petite body impossibly occupying the entire bed and he would have to carry her limp limbs to even garner a sliver of their mattress. Hanging his head after a few seconds of useless glaring, the mighty king plopped onto the mattress and felt the familiar cushion he had grown accustomed to in his two week stay.

The thought manifested into a physical scowl to mar his pale features.

He didn't want to be accustomed to anything that wasn't her.

The pale man lazily flipped his body so he faced the ceiling, growling in frustration at the familiarity. He was only accustomed to the cursed ceiling because he barely slept on this plush bed, he had countlessly stared into the oblivion that the ceiling conveniently provided. She lacked in everything around him and therefore he could not sleep calmly. Only after forced attempts was he able to squeeze in a few hours of disturbed sleep.

He wiped his scowling face, he could feel his mood darkening, a frustrated sigh escaping his partially parted lips. He looked down at his cracked and callused hands with hard eyes; hands that were now too big and too empty when her's weren't filling the spaces.

His arms held no purpose if she wasn't in them. His chest was just a vast space until she filled it, his ears were deaf unless she breathed life into them. The cork that held his tortured emotions in check crumbled away and visions of her quickly flashed through his destitute mind.

He grabbed the pillow beside him, his faithful companion in the two lonely weeks and weakly imagined his wife's curves, angry unbidden tears of frustration lined the rims of his dark hooded eyes, when only the shade of her intelligent gaze was poorly conjured in his mind's eye.

Tack clenched his eyes tighter, bidding her image, her texture, her _essence_ to surround him. His wife's many tiny quirks he silently adored her for. Her adorable nose when it crinkled, her sun kissed cheeks dusted rose when he kissed her breathless, the tiny irrevocable gasps of her pleasure he possessively craved for. The firm curve of her hip, the sharpness of her collarbone, the ample roundness of her bottom lip.

Everything, he drank her in from his memories, thoroughly engrossed in her, his weak heart strengthening as each shared moment together flashed behind his shut eyes.

The silent hissing sound when he gently pulled her hair back, away from her shoulder; the silk like texture of her skin behind her knee where it bent; her silent hum of approval when he kissed her temple. The alluring dimples of her back, the elegant arch of her spine; the enticing quark of her brow when he made a blunder of himself in her presence, which happened quite often despite their many years together.

Gods she drove him to the brink of insanity.

The moment lasted for what felt like only a second until the exhausted king crashed back into consciousness, waking in a fit of thrashing and sweaty limbs, the pillow clutched dangerously tight in his tense grasp. Releasing each digit slowly he sluggishly rose into a sitting position and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, angrily punching the innocent cushion at his side into the mattress underneath. He could feel his hand shudder as wave after wave of pining and yearning overtook him, his queen's absence worsening the shivers coursing through his arms.

His heart clenched spastically, pushing a choked gasp to leave his trembling lips; who was he not to obsess over her. He was an insignificant and forgotten soul in a city of thousands, until _she_ walked into his life with eyes blazing and unknowingly giving his existence purpose; what else was he to do but to devote his life to her.

His raging moods took a while to break and put back in order, only the promise of her finally settled his aching heart.

With darkened circles rimming his eyes, the king awaited for the sun to peek through the clouds of an unfamiliar horizon, an unfamiliarity that he could take slight comfort in.

Sunrises were more beautiful in the Golden city anyways.

He was completely packed and set to leave, yet he restrained himself from looking too overeager in departing this country or else it would be viewed as disrespectful, his blank gaze darkening at the thought of this trip being further prolonged due to his negligence.

Just a little more. Just two more torture filled days.

With his bed already neatly made, he perched leaning against the open window that leaked the tell tales of Bhasa's sunrise, beside him sat the innocent flowers that swayed with the morning breeze. He shut his eyes, his arms crossed over his exhausted body while he impatiently waited for a servant to knock on his wooden door to signal their appointed time to departure.

Her lacking presence in the past two weeks made two things painfully clear to the overworked king in that very moment.

One, never was he ever going to meetings that promised any form of long distance between him and his wife; and two: he was going to invest in training birds how to fly at impossible speeds in long and varying distances, with the ability to carry objects twice their weight. A soft chuckle escaped his highness's lips at the thought of a bird carrying him to the waiting arms of his wife, Tack, the cobbler turned king, finally found peaceful sleep.

-x-

'King Tack has prevailed! I repeat our almighty and noble king Tack has prevailed!' A large burly man shouted and crowed to all who would listen, eyes alight with excitement and pride.

He had heard from his scouters that the Royal highness' company had just passed the borders safely and without much restraint, even going as far as having personal escorts from Bhasa to oversee their safe travels.

He righted the fez that almost slipped at his erratic jostling, word must be spread far and wide throughout the abundant city. Their mighty king had saved the country once more.

A lone woman wrapped in dull brown and simple grey shawls, her attention riveted on the children playing around the stalls, quickly shot out of her stupor as her gaze whipped towards the words she had been praying for every morning for the past few weeks. Shocking violet eyes caught sight of the cherub man as she began to pick her way towards him, and much to her surprise, she wasn't the only one drawn towards the news. In seconds a crowd began to swarm around the stout man that stood upon a teetering wooden box.

He had no horn to blow, neither the height that could catch anyone's eye, yet his words captured the busy occupants moving through the crowded streets. Eager eyes and ears had their rapt attention aimed at the short man, who quieted in dramatic affect, commending the crowd to become silent. The king was highly respected and equally revered, any news or mere mention of their benevolent king always seized the undivided attentiveness of his people.

As the crowd steadily grew around her, she felt a bolt of fear strike down her spine, there was a good chance in a crowd this size, someone might recognize the political leader. She assessed the situation, coming to the conclusion that the shoving and murmurs that washed over her from the surrounding people meant that they were too preoccupied to even notice her majesty queen casually standing right beside them-

'War has been an everyday fear for citizens of this Golden country, but no longer fear my fellow people! Our courageous king has conquered the leaders of Bhasa in a grand battle of wills and is now making his grand return in two days time! Come my fellow man and woman, let us welcome our king with open and amiable arms! Let us show our thanks, our gratitude, for our all-powerful king!'

His voice boomed across the open stalls and something akin to awestruck ran through the bones of all who watched, cheers of pride rang loud and clear in the town's center. Surrounding background noises of moving people continuing on with their lives, carried amongst the multitude who were unmoved and undaunted by the stranger's words; but such distraction caused many to halt in their tracks and gaze in curiosity. A murmur spread quickly around and she didn't doubt that before sunset the rest of her lovely country will soon have heard the news. The sound of bleating goats and children's laughter were once more overpowered by the multiplying subjects as they chanted and raved.

'Long live king Tack! Long live the Golden City! Long live king Tack! Long live the Golden city!' The multitude recited around her, excitement coursing blindly through them all.

My was he a crowd pleaser, she dryly thought, the man continued on, speaking with dramatic flare of the greatness of this country's king as she followed a path away from the cheering crowd. The spokesman made her poor husband sound like he conquered seven kingdoms in a blink of an eye. She smiled an authentic grin for what felt like ages as she slipped away unnoticed.

Her cobbler was on his way home.

* * *

Yoohoo! A small explanation!

It may seem like I threw the words 'city' and 'country' around willy nilly,

but I must assure you that there is method behind my madness.

So whenever someone mentions 'The Golden city', it's because all affairs that pertain to politics or any other world state problems that need to be directly addressed by the king, they talk as if the city itself is the leader of the country. Sorta like it's the capital region, all other small towns and cities are just generally mentioned as part of the country.

And yes, I made the name of the country 'The Golden Country'.

In the Recobbled Cut, during the introduction, the camera zooms into the main city at the center and calls it 'The Golden City', so I just went with the assumption that the rest of the area is an overall country.

Bhasa, or however you may spell it, is southern from the country, which Zigzag actually mentions in the movie, you may recall it's close to the country called Mombasa, where he picked up the woman in the pink frilly coach thing.

Oh, and despite Tack being officially labeled as the leader and King of the country, he still personally and mentally considers both city and country as Yum-Yum's. Hence he mentally calls it ' _Her_ country' and ' _Her_ city'. He thinks highly of her opinion and could never take full ownership of anything related to politics and decision making cause most likely he's asked her opinion on it. And yes, Yum-Yum had to save Tack's sorry behind a few times.

I think that's about it, enjoy!


End file.
